


Sophie Linden

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Cape Wrath | Meadowlands
Genre: Abduction, Blood, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was one other...after Grace Diamond...before Jack made his "fresh start" in Cape Wrath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PROLOGUE

There was one other. No one knew about her. Poor girl, hers simply became one of those cold cases that happen when the villain becomes too smart for the heroes. There’s too much information these days isn’t there? Criminals now know what to do, what not to do after watching three hours of Law & Order. Don’t leave fingerprints, don’t leave semen, make sure you clean out the skin cells from under her fingernails where she scratched you. 

Or just pull out her fingernails.

 

When he was in “treatment” for his sexual deviance and sociopathy, he read books - paperback crime novels mostly, procedural “thrillers” that put everything out on the table for the reader. Because regardless of what he told the doctors and the court and everyone else who asked, he knew he would do it again. He had to do it again. Grace Diamond had beaten him. She escaped, really. That frail, bony bitch couldn’t stand a few cuts, couldn’t take a few punches. He knew that when he was released, given a clean bill of health and a fresh haircut, he’d find someone else, someone stronger. After all, he was only fourteen when he’d terrified Gracie into doing whatever he asked. Imagine the power he’d have at twenty-one.

It helped that he was good looking, that he kept himself neat, clean shaven, smelling like cedar and leather, natural, safe. He had a mischievous smile and a confident handshake and when women saw him on the sidewalk he could tell they wanted him to screw them…hard. They all pretend like they want you be romantic and gentle and buy them flowers and treat them like equals, but deep down he knew, we’re all just wild animals, and sometimes we need to rut. But those women, those slutty, cheap women looking at him like he was their next meal…he had no use for them. Hunting’s no fun when the deer stands right in front of you.

Sophie Linden was like a deer, when he really thought about it. She had thin, delicate limbs, plain reddish brown hair that hung to her shoulders, pin straight, brushed to a perfect shine and routinely pulled into a low ponytail. She had big brown eyes and pale, milky skin that bruised if you even so much as hurt her feelings. She wore a tiny gold cross around her neck on a thin gold chain. What a good girl. He saw her the day he moved into the only shit flat he could afford on his meager earnings and inheritance. She worked at the bakery across the street - unusual hours - getting there sometimes before four in the morning and finishing up around noon with flour in her hair and her cheeks pink from the heat of the kitchen. 

He knew what he wanted to do to her, to see what her thighs would look like with cuts, x’s slashed into them. He wanted to see her crying. He wanted to see her begging, begging at his feet with her hands tied tight behind her back. He pinched his forearm hard enough to leave a mark. It was a coping mechanism, kept the sudden and often unwelcome erections at bay. He had to calm down. If he just went out and grabbed her, just threw her up against the stone walls in the alley next to the bakery, it would be over in seconds, he’d most certainly be caught and it would be for nothing. He had to be careful this time. There was no getting away with youthful indiscretions anymore. He was twenty-one. 

Dear Little Sophie was only seventeen.


	2. Preparation

She woke up sick. Nauseated, dizzy, the taste of something bitter in her dry, sticky mouth. Wherever she was, it was dark and musty. The floor was concrete and she could hear footsteps above her. 

“Hello?” She spoke softly, afraid of what might be hiding in the dark.

There was no answer, just the creaking of the building, the hum of silence. She tried to get up and discovered the ropes, scratchy yellow nylon rope tied tight around her wrists so that her fingers splayed out like a shadow puppet of a bird. She could feel her pulse pounding in her fingertips. Her ankles were also tied, the rope wrapped nearly to her knees. Her bare legs. Her bare arms. This woke her fully. This sudden realization that not only was she alone in the dark, bound and drugged – but that she was naked too.

#########

He wished someone would give him some kind of credit for the preparation he put in. Even as a child, a teenager, he’d spent months preparing the old coach house for Grace’s stay, cleaning it out, blacking the windows, boarding them from the inside. He’d managed to sneak in supplies and food and sleeping pills and water without a soul taking notice. Because everyone thought he was a nice boy, a good boy with good parents, there was no reason to suspect him. 

So he started studying Sophie, her schedule, her route to and from work. He began keeping a diary, writing on her behalf about the new boy she’d met and dreamed of running off with. With a practiced hand and a slanted, girlish script he wrote love letters from Sophie to himself detailing her elaborate fantasies - how she wanted him to tie her up, how she wanted to be his slave - and mailed them from the post office near her house in Dalston to his own flat. When she left work he followed her at a distance, finding her home where she lived with her mother and father and brother Luke. It was a nondescript red brick terraced house, wrought iron fence painted white, dormant ivy climbing and covering the bricks like a network of veins. Beneath the light beside the front door was cheerfully painted sign reading: The Lindens. 

He stood for a moment and just stared, hands jammed into the pockets of his Carhartt and an unwelcome twinge of sadness and nostalgia tightening his throat. The family was inside, cozy and happy, enjoying their dinner with yellow light pouring from the windows as the sky outside turned purple blue. The Lindens. There were two windows upstairs facing the street. A light went on and he saw Sophie walking back and forth, taking down her hair, stretching, pushing those fresh little tits up and out so that anyone walking by could stare at them. He knew her game. She pulled the shade before changing her clothes. With Sophie hidden he imagined Mrs. Linden calling the police when her daughter didn’t come home from work, didn’t come home for two days. He imagined the shrill siren of a voice demanding the police find her little virgin girl. Find her before it’s too late!

He pinched his forearm and twisted the flesh, then headed back up the street towards home. 

It wasn’t the greatest neighborhood. Not a warzone, but not Hampstead Heath either. There were full blocks of businesses long closed down, windows boarded up. A lot of empty houses and flats not even bothering with for sale or rent signs anymore. He spent weeks walking the alleyways to find the perfect one, the perfect empty black box, dark and isolated, the basement of an old chip shop that had gone under years earlier. There was a small gravel parking lot surrounding it and a burned out service station to its left. He broke in the back door of the shop and made sure to leave the ground floor untouched, not a mote of dust out of place, sweeping his boot prints away as he made his way across the room. It was the basement that held treasure. At the bottom of the stairs, off to the right was an old storage room with a heavy wooden door nearly three inches thick. It was windowless, dark, maybe eight feet square. Over the course of a week or two he brought in blankets and battery powered lights, a coil of yellow nylon rope, bottles of water and duct tape, then he left the place alone, abandoned once again, just in case anyone had seen him.

There were a few more details, finding an accessible veterinarian’s office, getting a car. These were minor stumbling blocks, nothing that really concerned him. In fact, it had taken much less effort this second time. Grace Diamond had been his rough copy, a trial run. Things fell into place much neater with this one. His scalp prickled just thinking about it, like a kid looking forward to Christmas morning…it was getting impossible to wait.

He was nearly ready to introduce himself to Sophie Linden.


	3. The Bakery

For a while she just cried, knowing she was going to die, that she wasn’t going to see her parents again, wasn’t going to see her brother again, maybe wasn’t even going to see the sun again.

Because she knew herself well. She didn’t have the strength to fight whatever had brought her here to this hell. She didn't have the cleverness to outsmart anyone or the charm to convince them to let her go. Damp and heavy, the air was difficult to breathe and when she swallowed she realized there was something tight around her neck, something that strangled her if she tried to move too far forward. Pulling herself onto her elbows and knees she realized that while she was passed out she’d pissed herself, had been asleep in a puddle of it and now she could smell it in her hair.

As time went by it seemed that the dark got darker and she’d never felt so cold.

Above her she heard the footsteps again, then closer, on her left…coming down a flight of stairs. They were slow and soft, certainly no one rushing to her rescue. She curled in on herself, still on her knees, listening to the sound of keys in locks, tumblers falling, the creak of a door and a shaft of dusty gray light.

“Little Sophie? Are you awake?”

He didn’t even have to turn the lights on. She knew who it was. She could feel his voice in her belly.

#########

The bakery was a bright white hub of energy in the middle of a quiet block of shops and houses. Most days he would just sit in his front window with a beer and a cigarette and watch for her, the sun coming up over the buildings, streets coming to life, people with plans, futures, families, people who weren’t labeled as irredeemable monsters at fourteen moving about their day, taking it all for granted. She came out twice a day for a break; to make a few phone calls and have a soda, sitting on the sill of the bakery window drinking in the early summer sunshine. He watched how she walked, how she carried herself, crossing her arms over her chest to hold her light gray cardigan closed, holding her hand up to her throat to massage it as she talked to the customers coming and going with their treats. The gold cross around her neck glinted in the light as she ran the chain back and forth over her fingertip. She played with her hair quite a bit, twirling it, combing it out with her fingers, braiding a shock of it and twisting it into a knot. It was not lost on him how proud she was of her crowning glory. He’d always loved a woman’s hair himself. It’s what he noticed first.

He waited until the store was nearly empty, until it was close to noon and her shift was ending, then he made his move. Going out the back door of his building he walked a few blocks north and hopped on the bus that stopped just south of the bakery.

As he expected, a cheerful bell jingled as he opened the door of the shop, and he was immediately awash in the smell of fresh bread and baking chocolate. Sophie was behind the counter arranging the day’s remaining cupcakes on a white china plate. When she looked up at him she smiled and he saw her cheeks go pink. An image flashed in his mind of her sweating and flushed, gasping for breath, bits of her hair damp and stuck to her cheeks, spreading her legs for him willingly.

“Morning!” she said, surprising him with the depth and strength of her voice, a husky alto, not girlish in the least. “What can I get you then?”

He sauntered up to the counter flicking a toothpick around between his teeth like the tongue of a viper, drawing attention to his full lips that he’d pulled into a crooked smile.

“I don’t know yet love, tell me what’s good…” He folded his arms on top of the glass counter and leaned in towards her chest to get a good look at her shiny blue plastic nametag that was pinned to her left breast. “Sophie?”

When she backed up a step his smile grew broader and hers faded. And when she spoke again her voice was a bit smaller.

“It...it depends on what you have a taste for. The cranberry orange muffins are good, fresh this morning. There’s a lemon tart…and the toffee bit cookies are my favorite.”

“Well then, if that’s your favorite I’ll take a dozen. Maybe I’ll share them with you, yeah?”

She shrugged and giggled, turning away from him to get a box for the cookies. It was happening again, that feeling. She had that fluttery, lightheaded, tingly feeling that she got whenever someone ran their fingers through her hair. The same feeling she got when she was fourteen and Zachary Timmons kissed her at Lotte’s birthday party in the garden shed. He was sixteen, a man of the world, and he’d held her face when he kissed her, just like in the movies, slipping his tongue between her lips for barely a moment before she squirmed and pulled away. It had made her feel faint and thrilled and frightened all at the same time. She'd been overwhelmed.

“What are you a fucking dyke?” Zachary had said, a look of complete incredulity on his face.

“N…no, I was just…I was surprised,” she’d said, silently praying for any kind of interruption. Waiting for him to tell her it was ok, they could try it again. That it was ok to be nervous. “I…I liked it though.”

She’d waited too long to add the last part, Zachary had already waved a hand at her and left her alone amongst the new sprouting zinnias. She’d left the party without telling anyone goodbye, knowing that pushing Zach Timmons away even to simply catch her breath meant her shaky reputation among that crowd was already ruined.

“I don’t see you around town too often little Sophie,” he said to her, his voice low and rasping nearly a whisper. She could feel each word resonate in her belly. “Do you live around here?”

“No,” she said, offering him another shy smile, close lipped and lopsided. She broke off a piece of one of the toffee chip cookies and offered it to him. “Here, try it. They’re our most popular.”

Instead of taking the cookie from her with his fingers, he leaned over and nipped it out of her hand with his teeth, his lips and tongue brushing over her fingers as he pulled away. Feeling wobbly, Sophie came around to the front of the counter on the pretense of giving him his box of cookies.

“Special delivery for…” she raised her eyebrows, waiting. It was her first attempt at flirting with a stranger.

“Ahh…Adam,” he said. It was the name in the diary, the name on the letters. Adam. The first man. The man from which everything else came. Eve came from Adam, well trained and forever indebted to him. He wondered if he’d take to calling her Eve one day, a term of endearment once they’d been intimate friends for a while. “Adam Hawkins.”

“Well, special delivery for Adam Hawkins,” she said, handing him the bright blue box tied closed with white string. “It’s on the house if you promise to come back.”

He reached out and rubbed a shock of her hair between his fingers, lifting it to his nose to smell her shampoo. Grapefruit. Or maybe oranges and lemons. It was bright and bold, clean.

“I promise Sophie,” he said, leaving her limp and unsteady with unfamiliar arousal. He saw her eyes dilate, her mouth fall open, so he leaned in to whisper the last words in he ear, “I’ll be back for you,” his lips brushing over her jawbone as he pulled away.

When he was gone she put her lips against her fingertips where his lips had been, where there was still a bit of wet. She smiled and watched the door, wondering when he’d come and surprise her next.


	4. Goosebumps

He didn’t visit her every day. That was the mistake he made with Grace. Being seen near her all the time, following her spicy, flowery scent throughout the school day, meeting with her after school, finding her in the shops on weekends. So naturally, as soon as Grace disappeared, he was the one they came looking for.

The lead DI on the case had been a woman, short and skinny with spiky blonde hair. Everything about her looked sharp. Even the color of her eyes, that icy blue that made him uncomfortable. His father made her partner and her stand on the doorstep to ask her questions, but held him tight by the back of the collar to make him listen.

“I hear you’re quite fond of Mrs. Diamond,” the DI said, attempting a friendly smile.

When he hesitated, his father slapped the back of his head so hard he bit down on the back of his tongue. Not wanting to speak until the blood was clear from his mouth, he nodded. Then after a moment he added,

“She’s my teacher. My history teacher.”

"And you see her for tutoring as well?" The DI flipped through her notebook. "Three times a week, isn't it?"

"Y...yeah."

"You must have a lot of trouble with History," she said, letting a little snort of a laugh escape before composing herself. Her partner grinned like an idiot but said nothing. "When was the last time you saw her?”

“What’s this all about then?” His father bellowed, pushing out in front of his son to tower over the detective. “You just going door to door harassing every boy in the school? So she was a bit easy on the eyes and they all took notice. That a crime now? What about the bird’s husband? What about that nutter over in Knightsbridge who raped all them college girls? Who's looking for that bastard? What you want with my son?”

“I think your son knows what I want,” she said evenly, looking beyond his father, right into his eyes. It let him know that her questions were just a formality. The look in her eyes, the way she smiled with one side of her mouth, refused to shake his father's hand...she knew right where Grace Diamond was. She just wanted them to know she knew. 

More important, she hadn’t been afraid of his father. Not one bit. And that’s when he knew he was going to be in trouble.

#######

Like most girls her age, girls with their lives a blank canvas stretching out before them like a sea with possibilities like spokes in all directions, Sophie spent a great deal of her time in a dream world. The walls of her bedroom were covered in pictures from magazines, newspapers, print outs from the web. Not only of movie stars and musicians but of beach houses and red velvet gowns, sapphire jewelry and Boston Terrier puppies. She wrote the lyrics of her favorite songs on decorative papers and pinned them up, printed out poetry and scripture, paragraphs from books that filled her with any kind of strong emotion; heart wrenching, hilarious, horrific, happy, anything that made her feel. 

From these pictures she built elaborate stories, parallel lives. She married Prince Harry and went on a private cruise to Fiji, the paparazzi amazed at how poised and beautiful this commoner was. She was discovered by a movie director while at Tesco, and he insisted that he couldn't make his next film without her in it and overnight she became England's favorite daughter, publicists setting up dates with her co-stars, tabloids camped outside her home. As she grew older her dreaming took a sharper focus, not imagining the cruises or the movies or the horse drawn carriage, but focusing on the men, and what they could do for her.

And now if she is alone in the dark beneath the crisp cotton sheets, she can conjure up the feeling Zach Timmons gave her. She can think about the scenes in movies that made her blush -- the scruffy cheeked rogue grabbing her by the hair and kissing her hard, pushing her up against a wall -- and make herself shiver. Once or twice while she imagined herself with her wrists pinned above her head, lying beneath a strong, panting and naked man and her hand would wander down between her legs, combing her fingers through her soft thatch of pubic hair, just daring to part her lips, surprising herself at finding the musky slick wetness between them, the tiny knot of nerves that made her whole body jerk when she twisted and pulled at it. It was all so silky and sensuous. It thrilled and shamed and amazed her all at once. She didn’t dare go any further, embarrassed already at how much she’d done, that she didn't have a boyfriend to make her feel that way, that she had to be her own lover.

But then Adam gave her that thrill. It was beyond the romantic flush she got when a boy kissed her. That was just a bodily reaction. When she saw Adam waiting outside the bakery, when he touched two fingers to the brim of his baseball cap and nodded at her, letting her know he was waiting to see her, it was as if her entire physiology changed. She felt something in her belly, on her scalp, on the back of her neck, in her chest and most definitely between her legs. Although he was young, Adam was a man. He had his own flat and a green pick up truck and when he looked at her, it was as if he were memorizing her, committing each detail to memory. More than that, it was as if he were devouring her without touching her, without a word, without a kiss he was drawing something out of her and into himself. She felt overheated just from his stare, enough so that he'd taken to calling her "Pinky" when she ran out to bring him a cookie on her break.

He never told her when he was going to show up next or if he was going to show up at all. She found herself getting nervous when too many days went by, wondering if she'd said something stupid or offended him or had food in her teeth or bad breath. So when he finally came by after being out of touch for nearly ten days, it took everything in her not to burst through the front door of the bakery and jump into his arms even though they'd never even kissed, never held hands or had a proper date.

"I thought you disappeared forever!" She said, her voice a cross between flirty and terrified.

"Would you be upset?" He asked, giving her the crooked grin she liked so much. "If I never came back would you be sad, Sophie?"

"Of course!" She said, just a bit too eagerly. She covered for it by shrugging and fiddling with a few strands of her hair. "Why, are you leaving?"

"Nah," he said, waving her off. He shook a cigarette out of its pack and lit it. "I just like seeing you scared like that. Your pretty eyes get so wide."

They stood in silence for a minute, Sophie staring at his lips wrapped around the white paper, the way he exhaled the smoke out his nose like a dragon, picking a bit of tobacco off the tip of his tongue. If he tried to kiss her, she would let him. Why not? She wasn't a child anymore. She might let him go even further.

"So when you come to work in the morning it's still dark, yeah?" He asked.

"Yeah. In the summer time it brightens up a bit. It's my favorite time of day, those first moments of dawn when all the birds wake up and everything looks purply and the streets are empty."

"They are empty," he said, looking down the road, somewhere beyond her. 

"Why do you ask?"

"I just don't like the idea of you walking alone in the dark," he said, bringing his dark green eyes back to hers, flashing his warmest, most sincere smile. "I worry about you."

"Oh...well, I...I'm sure I'm..."

"You never know who's out there, especially in the middle of the night, or right before dawn." He let it sink in for a minute, have its effect on her before he spoke again. "Maybe I could meet you when you get off the bus. I don't mind getting up that early."

His heart started racing waiting for her answer. He'd tried to keep himself something of a mystery to her, a stranger, intriguing and mysterious. There was no reason for her to trust him to walk with her in the middle of the night through a sleeping town. But he'd also seen the naivete in her eyes, thinking that everyone in the world had her best interests at heart, that he wanted simply to hold her hand and talk about the weather instead of hanging her from a hook in the ceiling so he could cut into the soles of her feet.

She watched his jaw tremble with what looked like cold or nervousness and she smiled.

"That's so nice of you, Adam," she said, and feeling bold she went up on her toes and kissed the side of his scratchy face, breathing in the spicy, sort of woodsy scent of his neck.

"Yeah, sure," he said, tossing his spent cigarette into the street.

When she kissed him he felt goosebumps ripple down his arms. He wasn't prepared for it, so he left her without another word.


	5. Games

He flipped a switch and the room was revealed. Sophie squinted and turned her face away from the door where Adam stood holding a bottle of water and a red plastic bucket. He was barefoot, wearing a pair of battered jeans and a dirty white t-shirt. His black belt was unbuckled and his hair was wet.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out there,” he said with a smile. When she didn’t answer him his voice turned dark and rumbled like the thunder she heard through the walls. “Fucking look at me when I’m talking to you, you fucking cunt.”

She snapped to attention, still fuzzy from the drugs, still unable to believe that she’d been abducted, that she’d been tricked, that everything she'd been taught all her life on how to be safe had failed her, that she'd honestly believed it couldn't happen to her. 

The light came from strings of Christmas bulbs pulled across the ceiling of what looked like a closet. She was bound to the wall with a steel chain, but across the room was a mattress, complete with pillows and blankets. Her muscles ached, burned at the joints. She would have done anything to lay down flat, to stretch. When she turned back to look at Adam he was holding his knife. A simple six inch hunting knife with a black handle that he twirled between his fingers like a baton, still smiling. She realized she should have been careful what she wished for.

##########

It wasn’t that he’d never been with a willing woman. In fact, in the years after the Grace Diamond Murder, he became something of a minor celebrity. An over eager assistant at the mental hospital had leaked his name to the press and within days his picture was in every tabloid, The Sun even referred to him as a “handsome sociopath”. When he was sixteen he’d met a thirty three year old woman in a church parking lot and she gave him his first blow job. He sat in the back seat of her car with a bottle of beer and one of her cigarettes, rested his head against the cool leather upholstery and closed his eyes. She’d wanted him to threaten her. She’d wanted him to be mean, even asked about his knife. But as soon as her warm mouth wrapped around his cock he was entranced. He felt his heartbeat slowing, his muscles relaxing. For the first time in months he felt…at peace. She was an expert, her tongue running up and down the shaft while she stroked him with one hand, her red painted fingernails shining beneath the parking lot lights. When he felt himself close to coming he attempted to pull away from her, but she pushed him back with one hand on his flat belly and took the entire length of him down her throat, letting him pump his seed right into her mouth, groaning and shuddering in complete surprise. It had been different from the other orgasms he'd had, even with Grace. It had turned him inside out, drained him, his mind was emptied, cleared. He felt better than he had in months. Still, he never called that woman again. 

Then there were the girls his own age or younger, who thought that if they were pretty enough, if they smiled enough, opened their legs wide enough, that he would change. He would become a good boy, see the light and right all his wrongs, forever indebted to his beautiful savior. Their tight little pussies would make him fall desperately in love and he would take them to the movies and meet their parents for dinner and the handsome green eyed murderer would reveal his true heart of gold. 

For sex he liked those girls the best, watching them put out with a hint of hesitation, a shadow of true terror in their eyes as if easing a hand towards a growling dog. Their smiles were fake, their lips trembled when they kissed, but once he pushed them back on their bedroom floor and made them whine and whimper with newly discovered lust, making them beg him to let them come, fucking them hard with their mother waiting downstairs, pinning their wrists and biting their necks,they realized that maybe they didn't want him to change after all...that being afraid was what they were getting off on.

And so instead of saving him, of turning his new leaf over for him, these girls showed him the truth.

They wanted him to be bad.

For a while they would tease him, pull away from his touch, turn away from his lips, say no the first three times before screaming yes the fourth, wondering how much they could poke him before he broke free of the cage. They would act like they'd never sucked a cock before but then eagerly lap it up when he threatened to leave.

In a way it made him angry, this false purity, this outward desire for a nice boy from a nice home with a nice family. And perhaps in the end, it's what they got. But for a while they just wanted to use him, to make him perform, to play the role that made them wet for a while on Saturday night before going to church Sunday morning. It made him angry that they thought he was so stupid he couldn't see through their act...that they brought forth their fucking act at all, really, as if they'd forgotten that Grace Diamond was actually dead. That he had ended her life.

She was not pretending. Grace Diamond had not teased him. She was not acting out some soft focus EastEnders fantasy. She was not playing the damsel in distress. His lust for blood, his inexperience, his frustration, his panic, his inability to keep himself even keeled in the face of the whole plan crumbling around him had resulted in her bleeding to death on a dirty floor, right in front of him, her eyes wide open, pleading for him to save her.

But he didn't.

That's who he really was. It was who he would always be. His heart was black as coal. There was nothing hidden beneath.

#####

"Get up, on your knees," he said, grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

She yelped as he pulled her up and he tipped her head back to see the tears streaming down her cheeks. That's when she saw him do it again, his jaw trembling. He'd never been nervous. He'd never been cold. He'd just been crazy. She'd fallen for an insane person. She'd been stupid enough to believe that someone normal would fall for her. And now she was going to die for it.

He knelt down in front of her and stroked her cheek, pushed her hair back behind her ears...stopped her from shaking by touching her gently. She saw something glint in the light and realized he was wearing her cross. The gold cross she'd gotten for her first communion hung around his neck, reflecting the light back at her. The chain was a bit too short for him so it looked strange against his throat, but something about it terrified her, as if he were already harvesting bits of her as trophies. Another piece of metal flashed in the corner of her eye. His knife.

"We're going to play a game, little Sophie," he said, his voice smooth and warm, seductive, just a hint above a whisper. "Do you like to play games?"

She hesitated and he slashed the blade across her shoulder, a small x, not too deep, but it instantly revealed itself with tiny red jewels of blood. 

"When I ask you a question, you fucking answer with words. Got it?" He repeated the question, a little bit slower. "Do you like to play games, Sophie?"

"Yes," she said, careful not to look him in the eye, trying her best at a bit of bravery although the cut on her arm stung and pulsed with pain. 

"We're going to see if you're a good actress, kitten," he said, running the dull side of the knife down between her breasts, over her hardened nipples. "I want you to kiss me."

She looked at him then, confused at his direction.

"I want you to kiss me how you've dreamed of kissing me, every night since the day we first met, yeah?" He ran the knife between her legs and she sucked in her breath through her teeth. "I'm right, aren't I? You lay there in your pretty little lace bed with your hand stuffed up your cunt, thinking of me fucking you, don't you, little Sophie?"

She knew there was only one answer that wouldn't get her cut.

"Y..yes."

"Good girl. So now I want you to kiss me. Kiss me like you love me. And if you do a good job, if I believe you, I won't cut you again. OK?"

"OK," she said, looking over his shoulder to where the door was open. "Will you...let my hands go?" She asked, her voice quiet and demure, her eyes wide. "So I can touch your face?"

He smiled and leaned in towards her, wrapping his arms around her, her breasts flattened against his chest. It was only then that she realized how cold she was, how the warmth of his skin, no matter how terrifying, was a comfort. While he worked at the knots on her wrists she closed her lips over his and did what he asked, surprised at the warmth of his lips, how soft they were. He pushed her mouth open and slipped his tongue between her lips. She mewled in surprise but tangled her own tongue with his, feeling her right, then left hand come free of the rope. For a moment she kept kissing him, tasting him, shocked at how gently he worked. He sucked her bottom lip in between his own, closing his hand over her naked breast, his knee grinding up between her legs. She continued kissing him, running her fingers through his damp hair, over his bristled cheeks. Then she pulled away to breathe, to lick her lips and see if he approved.

And to do the one thing she remembered.

Before he could kiss her again she pushed both of her thumbs deep into his eye sockets, screaming herself at his own terrified reaction. Her ankles were still bound and she was the end of her leash and as he leaned away, she couldn't do it. She couldn't gouge his eyes out, drive her fingers in deep enough, and in a second he had her flat on her back, his forearm tight over her throat, his knife poking at the skin of her thigh. When he screamed at her his forehead was pressed against hers, his eyes and voice frantic with rage.

"I was trying to be nice to you, you fucking bitch! I didn't want to cut you! I wanted to give you a fucking chance to be good. You're just like the rest of them aren't you, Sophie? You push and you push just to see how far you can go before you get hurt, right? The minute you learn what your pussy can do you start playing games."

She could feel her pulse in her ears. Darkness fluttered around the edges of her vision as he cut off her breath but she managed to stutter,

"I...I'm sorry. Please...please don't kill me. I'm sorry."

He picked up her head by the hair and slammed it against the floor.

"I'm so sorry. Please." She reached her hands up to touch his face again, this time her fingers ran over his lips in supplication as she begged for air. "I'll be good. I promise I'll be good."

He jumped away from her, letting her catch her breath, then pulling her leash free from the wall, he threw her onto the mattress, tying her hands to an eye bolt in the wall, hooking the leash to another on the floor. Before leaving he crouched over her and sliced the knife deep into the creamy white skin between her breasts, an x twice the size of the one on her shoulder. She could feel the blood run down to her stomach, over her ribs and he smeared it across her cheeks, his face still set in a frown of disappointment.

"When you misbehave, you get marked. We'll see how long it takes you to learn that, love." He threw the pop top water bottle on the mattress beside her. "If you want it badly enough you'll find a way to get it."

He stood at the door and stared for a moment, his hand on the light switch.

"Please Adam, please don't."

"Don't what?" He asked with a hint of amusement.

"Don't leave me in the dark."

"Aw sweetheart, you shouldn't tell me things like that."

And he flicked off the lights.


	6. Sleep

Grace had been so surprised. It was his clearest memory of the whole thing.

He didn’t take the blindfold off of her until she was secured in the garden shed. She’d been small enough to carry and he’d tied her down at the neck, the waist, ankles and wrists. Then he got out his knife and cut off her clothes, nicking off each button of the pink silk blouse she’d had on at school -- pretending like she didn't know what every boy in the class was thinking while she paraded around, up and down their aisles of desks -- unbuttoning and then slicing off her black skirt and finally running his blade through her black stockings from hip to toe, smiling at how fast a run in the fabric could zip down the leg. Before too long she was left in the lawn chair in just her mismatched bra and panties. He didn’t want to cut those off yet, but the sight of the little curls of dark hair peeking out from the edge of her white underwear nearly did him in.

Once she started to stir he took off the blindfold. He’d never seen her blue eyes so wide, so sparkly. Of course her mouth was still taped shut, but he’s sure it would have been open wide in amazement wondering how did she get there? How did this little “boy”, this silly little student of hers manage to get the upper hand? What was he going to do to her? How was she going to escape? That’s when he started laughing, all by himself in the damp dark garden shed with his history teacher tied tight to a wooden patio chair. He laughed out loud while she stared in silence, because he knew she wasn’t.

 

########

Now he realized as he watched Sophie sleep was how much different it all was this time. How much more power he had, how much bigger he was than her. He was strong enough to force her legs apart, to hold them apart with the strength of his thighs. He knew what to do with her once he had her laid open before him. He was no longer a boy just exploring, discovering her body and what it could do. He was a man and he knew exactly what he wanted Sophie to do. He shivered. Her head was turned, her cheek resting against the inside of her elbow, the water bottle he’d left for her opened, half empty. He smiled, feeling something like pride that she’d been able to figure out how to work the bottle up to her mouth with her legs. He nearly groaned out loud imagining her twisting and turning in her bonds, arching her back, forcing the bottle up towards her lips...

Outside the thunder cracked. It had been storming ever since he brought her down and with the last rumble the Christmas lights flickered. He sat on the floor next to Sophie’s mattress and ran his hand over her flat stomach, her navel shaped like a T, the beauty mark on her rib cage that looked like a little drop of melted chocolate. She’d been a convincing kisser. That much he had to give her. As soon as the wetness of her lips touched his he felt a rush of heat to his cheeks. She hadn’t held back, as scared as she was. There was sincerity in it, even if she had tried to gouge his eyes out. Part of her still, after all he'd done, had wanted to kiss him. He ran his thumb over her eyebrow, her nose, the line of her jawbone. The smear of blood on her cheek disrupted his exploration and he went across the room to get a wet rag, hoping to be able to clean her while she was asleep.

But Sophie wasn’t asleep at all. This was one of her finest talents. As a child she’d taken great comfort in her mother stroking her hair, plaiting it, rolling it into curlers. She used to come in and sit on the edge of Sophie’s bed at night and run her fingers through her long hair like comb for before turning off the lights and closing the bedroom door. It gave Sophie goosebumps. But if she was awake, her mother would simply kiss her on the forehead, pat her cheek lovingly and announce lights out. So she began pretending, watching the door through her eyelashes, breathing slow and deep like a sleeping person would. When her mother came in she would remain perfectly still with her book open on her chest, as if she'd dozed off while reading. Sometimes her mother would hum a little tune or tell her what a sweet little lady she was, but it was the touch that Sophie craved most. 

As soon as she’d heard Adam coming down the stairs she turned her head and closed her eyes, hoping that finding her quiet and asleep he’d leave her for the night, go back to wherever he lived, to whatever he did when he wasn’t torturing people. The room had no windows, no clues. She had no idea if they were right across the street from her house or three hundred miles away. She had no idea if it was day or night. Her head was so fuzzy, she wasn't sure if she’d been in that closet for a week or a day. 

He sat down on the edge of the mattress again and wiped her face with a washcloth he’d dipped in cold water. Once the blood was gone from her cheeks he cleaned the dried and smeared blood surrounding the X he’d carved into her chest and the smaller one on her shoulder. Every move was slow and precise, his eyes flicking up to check her own as he moved to run the cool washcloth down her arms, over the bones of her hips, down her thighs and calves. The toothpick in the corner of his mouth bobbed around lazily, she could feel his breath on her skin. 

“Pretty little Sophie,” he said quietly, picking up her feet and cleaning the bottoms of each sole. 

His gentleness terrified her. It made him that much more unpredictable and strange. When he was satisfied with his work he threw the rag across the room, took off his worn red baseball cap and pulled his t-shirt off, sitting beside her in just his jeans and bare feet. He yawned and she tried to keep her breathing easy and even. Every nerve in her body was on alert and she was sure he could see how fast her heart was beating, but if that was true he said nothing. 

“I’m so tired, Sophie,” he said, so low she could barely hear it, but it sounded like the voice of a child.

In the dim light of the single string of bulbs he’d turned on she could see that he had tattoos on his arms and chest, dark, menacing looking designs -- flames, symbols, numbers. He was lean and his muscles had the look of strength from hard work, not from lifting weights at the gym like her brother’s friends. Did he see himself as a god or a monster? She wasn’t sure she could tell. Obviously she had no idea how to read people. After taking off his belt and throwing it to the floor he cracked his neck with one loud pop to each side and ran both of his hands through his hair before laying down beside her on the old mattress, the heat of his body warming her in an instant.

He unhooked her chain from the wall and coiled the end of the leash three times around his hand before wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. She didn’t smell like the bakery anymore. No more vanilla and butter and rich baking chocolate. Still, her hair had a hint of the fruity shampoo she used and he buried his nose in her hair to breathe it in. She made a sound in her sleep and he froze, uninterested in waking her, answering her questions, dealing with her twisting away from him. Besides, when she was asleep she was so pliant, so soft and beautiful. The tension was gone from her face. Only once had he slept beside a woman for an entire night, held her in his arms, fell asleep listening to her even breathing. It had been expensive, but it was soothing. He craved it. It was raining too hard to make the trip home worthwhile anyway, and he was anxious to play with her the minute she woke up.

Through her half closed eyes she could see his hand on her belly, his pinky resting just above her dark triangle of pubic hair, his arm over her waist. It flashed in her mind as a fantasy she'd had of sleeping beside him...somewhere in a fancy hotel after a night of making love. She'd dreamed of feeling his chest pressed against her back, of him kissing her neck and whispering good night. She'd...wished for it.

"Sleep tight baby," he said.

He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes, and when the thunder clapped he pulled her to him closer, keeping her warm. Then finally, after ten minutes she felt the pattern of his breathing change, heard the tiny snoring sounds on each of his inhales. His grip on her loosened and that's when Sophie fell asleep.


	7. Dependence, Degradation and Dread

She dreamt of Bath, of going with her classmates to see Stonehenge and seeing the monoliths covered in graffiti. In her dream she became so angry she screamed at the stones and they fell into each other, flattened into a circle like dominoes.

She woke with her ankles tied down, her legs spread wide and Adam tickling the bottoms of her feet with the tip of his knife. When she tried to twist and wiggle in a futile attempt to free herself he nicked through the skin between her toes and she instantly felt the warm blood drip down the sole of her foot. The pain added to the pounding in her head from hunger and dehydration and she felt tears sting in the corners of her eyes. 

“Lay still, love. You know the rules.”

He was naked except for her gold cross that still hung around his neck. His whole body was lean and taut, just as she’d imagined. She got a better look at the black tattoos on his arms and back, the solid black diamond on the bone at the top of his spine. He stalked around the room like a jaguar she'd seen at the zoo once, pacing back and forth with pent up energy, hunger, his eyes focused on her, looking her over from tip to toe. 

She tried not to look between his legs, tried not to imagine what was going to happen, but he began stroking himself as he watched her and she couldn’t look away. These were all of her firsts. Her first naked man, her first time seeing his cock hardening in his hand. These would be her tattoos, the marks she couldn't forget. Although she knew it was fruitless, she strained against the ropes to try and pull her legs together, to hide any part of herself from him, but it only made him laugh. He crouched between her thighs, his shoulder blades poking up as he prepared to pounce on his prey, putting his lips to her hips, left and right side, the tip of his tongue tracing the outline of the bones.

 

“Good morning sunshine,” he said, sliding up her body, his arms on either side of her, laying his knife on her belly, trapping it between them. His face hovered near hers, smiling in that smug way that she’d once found sexy but now seemed maniacal. Still, she met his eyes and held his gaze, feigning confidence. He looked away first and kissed her nose, then her lips. He nuzzled her neck, his unshaven face scratching her cheek. “I love to watch you sleep, Sophie,” he whispered into her neck. 

The hair on the back of her neck prickled, making her shiver. Instead of him, she was angry with herself, the involuntary reactions to these moments of gentleness he afforded her. She turned away from him, the most she could do in protest and he pulled back, frowning. Her blood ran cold at the sight of his disappointment, but instead of becoming angry with her he reached up to unhook the leash from her neck, unfastening the lock on the collar and throwing it to the side. She could see out of the corner of her eye that it was red nylon with a black plastic clasp, just like any of the dogs in her neighborhood. 

“Kiss me again,” he said, his lips against her ear. “Like you did before you misbehaved. We'll see if you've learned your lesson.”

She did as he asked, opening her mouth against his, letting him explore her with his tongue, mimicking his movements to keep him satisfied, calm. She did her best to imagine they were somewhere else. That her wrists weren't bound together with scratchy rope, that she hadn't been drugged and pulled off the street, that he loved her and wanted to kiss her, that he thought she was beautiful, that she gave him goosebumps with her own smile.

He went back to nuzzling her neck, saying nothing, his hand moving to squeeze and knead her breast. She could feel him pressing into her hip, his erection hot and smooth against her skin and her stomach lurched with nausea. He began growling, grunting, his frantic hands moving over her; her breasts, her stomach, her neck, her hair. He ran his fingers over the features of her face, her eyelids, her nose. He traced the outline of her lips, opening her mouth with two of his fingers before sticking them inside, sliding them over her tongue.

The taste of salt and nicotine was too much and Sophie finally pulled her face away, shaking the tears loose from her eyes. He grabbed her cheeks tightly in one hand, forcing her to look at him.

“P…please…please don’t do this,” she said. “I know you don’t want to do this to me. Not really,” she said through her tears. “You wouldn’t hurt me. Please.”

For a moment he said nothing, his lips a breath away from hers, his face a twist of confusion. But when he spoke, she knew she’d made a mistake. All of it had been a grave mistake, from the moment he walked into the bakery.

"You don’t know one fucking thing about me, do you darling? You don’t even know my real name, yeah?” He laughed at the horror that sprung to her eyes, the realization that nothing was what she’d thought. “Are you a virgin, Sophie?” She hesitated and he slapped her face with the back of his hand, hard enough to make her bite the inside of her cheek. “When I ask you a fucking question, girl, you answer me with words, do you understand me?”

She nodded and he grabbed her face again, his words hot puffs of air against her lips.

"Are you a virgin, Sophie?”

“Yes,” she said, catching her breath, closing her eyes to his furious gaze. 

He took his hand from her face and reached between her legs, parting her warm lips with one finger and dragging it up and down. She whined and mewled, turning her head away from him.

“Say it then. I want to hear you say it for me.”

“I’m…I’m a virgin,” she said as he tried to work his fingers inside of her. She cringed and cried out at the pain. It stung and burned, but finally he pulled away, sucking the tips of his fingers clean.

“Not for long, love,” he said.

“Please…” she muttered again, more to herself than to him. She knew pleading with him was fruitless. “Please…”

She felt the weight of him disappear and there was silence. She opened her eyes and saw him between her legs again, now with his knife. He blew a stream of air over her and ran his fingers through the thatch of hair. Pulling it up to stand on end, he sliced through it, holding the curls of hair up to his nose. Laughing, he threw it aside and bent down again pulling at another section of hair. Before he could cut it, Sophie bucked up and knocked him in the chin. He looked up at her, enraged.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was afraid…” 

“You’re a right firecracker this morning, aren’t you sunshine? I do something nice for you...I take your fucking collar off and this is how you thank me? I would have thought you’d learned your lesson by now, Sophie. I’m the fucking one in control of this game. Not you. NOT FUCKING YOU.”

While she begged and screamed for him to stop he dragged the knife down the inside of her left thigh, a long deep x that bled instantly, searing with pain. He licked at the wound and smiled at her, his teeth stained pink with blood. She was sobbing, the tears streaking her cheeks, running over her temples, her whole body jerking and trembling with her fear. He stood and watched her cry, watched her fall apart in front of him, and felt himself getting harder than he’d ever imagined, but he restrained himself, putting off his pleasure in order to increase it. It was just what they had taught him in the hospital. It was part of his sociopathic behavior. He relied on three things for his arousal. Dependence, degradation,

and dread.

“I’m so hungry,” she said, her voice crackling, gurgling with tears. “I’m thirsty and hungry and in pain and I want to go home. Why are you doing this to me? I never did anything to you. Why are you doing this? I want to go home. Please. PLEASE.” 

If he listened to her beg any longer he wouldn't be able to wait. If he kept cutting her he ran the risk of losing her...like Grace. So instead he buckled the collar back onto her neck and hooked the leash to the wall while she thrashed and screamed. He untied each of her ankles and pulled her arms down from the eyebolt so she could change position. His gift to her for the rest of the day.

Before leaving he crouched down in front of her as she curled up against the wall, pulling away from him as far as she could.

"I don't like your attitude, Sophie. You don't have very good manners," he said, brushing her hair away from her face. Then, mimicking her voice he cried out, "I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! I'm sore! Everything isn't about YOU Sophie."

"I'm sorry," she said, but he could tell she was simply patronizing him and it was pissing him off.

"You're sorry. Always so sorry. I'll bring you food tomorrow. Food and water. I might bring you a blanket even..."

"Thank you..."

"I wasn't fucking finished. I'll bring you those things, and leave it to you to decide how you're going to earn them, yeah?" He gave her a light slap on the cheek and got up to dress himself in silence.

Sophie turned away from him to face the wall so he wouldn't see her crying. She wasn't sure how much longer she could last and she wondered if there was anyone at all who was looking for her.


	8. The Investigation

Detective Murphy was beginning to believe that this Linden case was a waste of everyone's time. The girl was nearly eighteen, living in a small, run down town with no prospects, it was easy to come to the conclusion that she'd simply taken off. Still, he went through the evidence and tried to piece together some sort of story that would lead to her abduction instead of her running away...a theory becoming more and more solid in his mind.

According to her employer, a tiny boutique bakery in Croydon, Sophie's brother Luke called in the night before her disappearance to say Sophie was sick and wouldn't be at work the next day - a call her brother denied ever making, and indeed the phone number of the call was from a disposable phone bouncing off a tower five miles from Sophie's house, nowhere near the bakery. According to Sophie's parents, they'd received a call on the day she disappeared saying that Sophie would be staying late, picking up a second shift and would be home around six p.m. - a call the bakery denied making although the call did come from the vicinity. Frankly, it sounded like a way to buy some time. A landscaper found her backpack a mile away from the bus stop where she got off each morning on her way to work. Inside was her diary, with countless entries about an older boy named Adam who lived in Clapham and wanted to whisk her away for a life of love and passion, countless tube passes, want ads for jobs in Clapham, brochures for hotels and inns and "romantic getaways".

Murphy looked through the quotes he'd highlighted in some of the interviews he'd done with family and neighbors, coworkers of Sophie's. Her parents, of course, saw their daughter as a perfect innocent Christian girl who'd never go to an R rated movie much less run away with a stranger to the godless streets of London. But her bedroom had held a different story. Her laptop showed she'd bypassed the parental lock on her internet and was visiting erotica websites, blogs filled with "adult" photography, forums filled with people discussing their sexual encounters with celebrities in vivid detail. She had hidden files where she wrote stories about sex, about what she imagined it would be like, what she'd seen in the R rated movies her parents thought she'd never been to, what she wished she could experience - and they weren't exactly the gauzy soft focus love making you'd imagine a teenager hoping for. It had been a fascinating dichotomy looking at a picture of a mousy, sheltered young woman with no makeup and an innocent smile while reading about how she'd tried to give herself an orgasm with the shower head. 

"Sophie Linden?" Kim, one of the girls at the bakery, had said while smacking her day glow green gum between her teeth. "Sister Sophie? No, she didn't have a boyfriend. And there's no Adam around here that I know of. Katie! Come over, they're asking about Sophie."

Another girl in the same blue apron with the same yellow blond hair pulled into the same knot at the top of her head, sidled up to put in her two cents with Detective Murphy.

"Sophie was completely mad," she told him. "She was a creepy Jesus freak and she certainly didn't have a boyfriend. She probably made him up," Katie said, and the two girls burst into laughter. "She asked me once if I knew how to get myself off, right? If I'd tried it. You know what I mean?"

The detective had nodded, anxious to get off the subject of teenage masturbation, wondering what on earth it had to do with her possible abduction.

"We told her only freaks do that," Kim said, and Katie quickly added,

"freaks and fat girls who can't get laid."

"Blokes started calling her Wanda Wanker. She'd probably pay somebody to rape her," Kim said, and the girls burst out laughing together. 

Murphy cringed, thinking about the girls he'd seen, same age as these two, fighting for their lives in hospital after being brutalized, and the girls who hadn't won the fight. He'd nearly forgotten how awful kids could be to each other. He wouldn't blame Sophie for running away at her first opportunity.

They'd canvassed the neighborhood, put up their posters, set up a tip line and alerted the press, but it had been over 72 hours. At this point, Murphy thought, he just couldn't see the use in devoting too much of his mind to the issue. Besides, he just wanted to get home and out of the rain.

********

The storm battered the old shop throughout the night and Sophie did her best to curl her knees up to her stomach and sleep in a fetal position to keep warm, but the leash was short and it was difficult to roll onto her side. Her bones ached in the damp. 

When he came back he was soaked through, his face tense with frustration, a toothpick flicking between his lips. 

"Power's out," he said, shining a flashlight into her eyes. "Pretty fucking dodgy out there. Radio said it's tornado weather."

As he talked he pulled out three other flashlights from his leather backpack along with a small battery operated radio and what looked like a heavy paper bag. He arranged the flashlights on the metal shelving of the storage room, standing them on their ends to light the room.

"What? No good morning, Adam?" When he looked over at Sophie he saw her backed up to the corner of the mattress, her back against the wall, her arms crossed over her knees, her head hiding between them. "Oi, what's this? You know better than to try and hide from me, girl."

He pulled at her arm to make her look at him and saw her face full of panic.

Almost every nightmare Sophie ever had involved a tornado: the roiling green skies, people running while sirens wail, houses ripped from their foundations as if made of paper. She blanched at tales of people whisked away in an angry funnel cloud and being impaled on a steel fence, of whole towns disappearing overnight. Late spring and early summer had her on constant alert, watching the shapes and heights of the clouds, their colors, the sounds of the wind. One of her teachers once told her, "I want you to remember that when the rain stops and you hear the roar of an approaching train, but no whistles or sirens to go with it...that's when the tornado is upon you." On the stormiest nights she would stay awake scanning the sky, the crackling arteries of lightning, watching for funnel clouds until the sun came up. It didn't matter how rare they were, or how "weak" they were, she'd convinced herself that one day she'd fall asleep and miss the warning and in a blink of an eye she'd be swept away.

The thunder roared again and Sophie jumped, staring at Adam, unsure of what to do. It was the first time she actually felt like an animal trapped in a cage, rattling the bars, unable to break free.

"Oi, don't tell me you're scared girl? Now you're scared? It's just storming. Angels bowling and all that shit."

It was a different sort of fear, the way she looked at him, and it made him uneasy. It made his mind drift, go backwards. For once it wasn't him frightening her. For once she was looking to him for protection. She wanted him to save her.

"There isn't a tornado then?" she asked, still curled into the corner in the shadows. He could only see half of her face from where he stood.

"No, no," he said, unhinged at what he was feeling, what she was doing and angry at himself for how it made him feel.

The rain had been so steady for so long, the drumming on the walls so constant that they'd almost forgotten about it until it stopped.

"Fuck," she said and he laughed out loud.

After a moment the drumming returned and he could see her shoulders drop an inch. Kneeling down to tune in the radio, he started talking in a quiet tone, a calming tone.

"Even if there were a funnel we're..we're in a basement - there's no safer place to be. You don't have to be...you don't have to be scared...of the storm."

She nodded at him but he could tell she wasn't convinced.

The rain stopped again and the radio crackled with static. Sophie could see by the look on his face that he was just as nervous as she was but refused to admit it.

He unhooked the chain from the wall and moved her to the middle of the mattress before sitting in the corner himself. He propped a pillow behind his back and patted the space between his legs to call her over. And in that brief moment she could see who he must have been as a child, a nice little boy, eager and helpful. The smile he gave her through the darkness was entirely different from the cocky grin he'd usually flashed. It was small and closed lipped, genuine.

Thunder rattled the walls and she could swear she heard the rumble of an oncoming train.

"Come on then," he said, patting the mattress again, "Come sit by me my dear."

When she didn't move, he pulled her closer by the arm so he could untie her wrists. As he worked at the yellow nylon rope she found herself watching his face, his brow furrowed in concentration, mashing his lips together as he tried to untangle his own complicated knots. He was clean shaven and he smelled spicy...like cedar and sandalwood. His fingernails were cut short and clean. Once the ropes fell away he took her wrists between his hands and rubbed at the hot red bruises the bonds had left.

"Thank you," she said, but he wouldn't look up at her.

He unfastened the red dog collar, tossing it aside, and she was entirely free. If there weren't three heavy padlocks on the door she could have run, but the roaring wind reminded her why not.

He settled back against the wall, his heavily booted feet stretched out in front of him and patted the mattress one last time. Sophie nodded and took her position, her back resting against his chest, his arms on either side of her, resting on his own thighs. Within seconds the wind and rain became deafening and he could feel her tense up.

"I've worked in construction before," he said, and while he talked he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her hands out of her lap, lacing his fingers into hers. "I'll tell you that this building may be abandoned, but it's sturdy. Tight as a drum, yeah?" Still she trembled in his arms, so he held tighter as the walls groaned and squeaked above them.

"OK," she said, pulling her knees up to her chest.

It was then that he started to wonder if it wasn't the fear he craved, but the control. Right then, in that tiny, musty room with the town blowing apart above them, to Sophie Linden, he was God, a strict and fearsome god, but when she was in danger, she turned to him to save her, and it gave him the same warm, throbbing feeling in his belly when he thought about it.

He put his lips against her hair and whispered, "I will keep you safe," but it was so quiet it may as well have been to himself.


	9. Reward

The storm passed over and the rain started drumming an even rhythm once again, followed by a loud crack of thunder. Her relief filled her with near euphoria and combining that with her lightheadedness and hunger, she began to giggle. Within a minute she was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. 

"What's this about?" He said, still holding tight to her hands.

Sophie shook her head, unable to compose herself.

"I just...I can't believe...you're the last person I should trust to keep me safe!" She started giggling all over again and he let go of her, standing up so quickly that she banged her head against the wall. It throbbed beneath her hand.

"Fucking twat," he muttered, gathering up the supplies he brought with him.

"Wait!" she cried, realizing he was preparing to leave. "Please, wait."

Before picking up the paper shopping bag he made a point of refolding the blanket he'd packed.

"Please...don't leave me alone again."

He took out a bottle of water and drank a long sip, then showed her the cheese and crackers and apples and chocolate he'd brought. At the bottom of the bag she caught a glimpse of a baby blue box with white string - from the bakery.

"Adam please...I need to eat."

He shook his head and packed it all up again, turned off the radio and two flashlights. As he turned for the door she scrambled off the dirty mattress and knelt at his feet, her eyes shining with tears.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It all came out wrong. Thank you. I should have said thank you. I know that now. It was a mistake. Please." In the dark she bent down and kissed his black boots. "Please. You promised me."

She heard a groan, almost a purr from deep in his throat and he grabbed a fistful of her hair, bending her head back to force her to look at him, the tendons in her neck straining beneath the skin. His smile was wicked.

"I didn't promise you," he said. "I told you I would bring those things and leave it to you to earn them, right?"

"Right," she said, and he let go of her hair.

She knew what he wanted. He wanted her to stay on her knees. She was a virgin, a sheltered little school girl really, but she knew he wanted her mouth. She'd seen it in the porn her friends had on their websites, read it in the dog eared pages of paperback novels and magazines discretely passed around school. She'd even heard girls her own age brag about their deep throating abilities, their preferences in the arena of spit or swallow. 

"So what are you going to do, hungry girl?"

He moved a step closer to her and unbuckled his belt with one hand, never taking his eyes away from her face. He pulled the black leather free with one hot swish and bent over to run his fingers through her hair before slipping the belt around her neck, threading it through the buckle. He didn't pull it tight enough to choke, he just wanted to see...he wanted to see her on her knees with the leather around her neck, black against her pale, creamy skin, so white it nearly glowed in the dark. The tail of the belt hung down between her breasts and she looked up to find him staring, patient, his eyes soft, his mouth a lopsided smile. 

She had to give him credit. How clever he was not to force her. In fact he was making her choose, making her reach out for the button of his jeans.

Again a groan shuddered from his mouth but he pushed her hand away.

"Tell me. Tell me what you're going to do."

Her cheeks blazed with heat. Part of her wanted to punch him in the balls and suffer the consequences and the rest of her wanted to give up and let him use her until she was limp and broken. She was tired of being the fool, the joke. Tired of being humiliated...and not just from him.

The lights flickered back to life and she blinked to adjust to the brightness. Instead of answering him she reached for his zipper again. He instantly put his boot to her chest and pushed her away. She screamed in agony at the pressure of his foot on the X between her breasts.

"I don't want to hurt you again baby, but you're not listening. Tell me what you're going to do."

She crawled forward and went up on her knees, the concrete floor digging into her skin, her heart pounding with anger.

He was surprised at the energy in her face, her eyes when grabbed his hips and looked up.

"I'm going to suck you off," she said. and he couldn't help but let out a laugh of shock.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled down his zipper. Knowing her inexperience he helped her to free his hardened prick, stroking it a bit as she watched it stiffen in his hand.

"Open your mouth," he said, teasing her lips with the head.

The sight of her on her knees, her brown eyes wide, searching his for some sort of guidance, her soft, rosy lips opened and waiting for his cock was nearly enough to set him off, but he knew it would get even better if he was patient. With one hand wrapped around the back of her neck he slipped himself inside the warm wetness of her mouth. She gagged almost instantly but he held her steady.

"Shhhh," he said, thrusting slowly over her tongue. Her whimpers of resistance tempted him to push deeper but he didn't want her to give up. He was willing to teach her what he wanted. "Good girl," he whispered. "Now lick it."

She didn't hesitate, simply swirled her tongue over the head and down the thick, rigid shaft like she'd seen it done in the movies. It tasted sour and musky and it was hard to breathe, but she closed her eyes and did as he asked, her hands on his thighs for support. She could feel the muscles in his legs flexing and with each lap of her tongue his breath hitched in his chest.

She looked up at him with her lips puffy and pink around his shaft and he smiled at her, grateful for the release of tension her mouth gave.

"Oh, that's a good girl," he said again and he ran his fingers through her hair, over her scalp. The tiny shuddering moan she let out pushed him to the edge and he thrust himself deep into her throat. Her fingernails sunk into his legs and she struggled against it but it would only be another second. "Swallow it," he hissed as he came, his words stuttering out, knees weakening. Before pulling out he bent down and wrapped one hand around her neck. "I want to feel you swallow it, girl."

The muscles in her throat rippled and he let go, pulling away to catch his breath. Sophie fell forward onto the floor, her shoulders shaking as she cried, the bitter taste of him stuck in her mouth, her mind. He crouched in front of her and tipped her chin up, his face showing a kind of contented exhaustion. He held her face still in her hand, his thumb brushing over her lips before his tongue flicked out like a serpent to trace the outlines of her mouth. Then he kissed her, a chaste and gentle kiss she didn't expect.

"You want a turn then?" he said, and the wicked smile returned.


	10. Wounded

While she sat crumpled and weeping with her arms wrapped tight around her ribs, he pulled the belt free from her throat letting the leather burn across her skin. After buttoning his jeans and buckling up he pushed her face against the floor with a hand on the back of her neck and ran two fingers between her legs, surprised to find the slightest bit of slick musk hiding at her core. 

"What have we here," he said, working his fingers between her tightly closed thighs to stroke between her silken lips. "Little Sophie likes to suck cock."

Squirming out from under his grip she crawled away from him, toward the bag of food, the blanket, the cold bottle of water, but he dragged her back with one hand around her waist, the skin of her knees scraping against the rough cement floor. She watched as he sucked the two shiny fingers into his mouth to clean them, then flicked the tip of his tongue at her and laughed.

Keeping her head down she cursed herself and blinked back hot tears, ashamed of how her own body had betrayed her. She'd known for a long time how strange she was, how wrong her thoughts were, how twisted her fantasies, but this had been the ultimate humiliation. Who would believe her now? Who would believe she'd suffered at his hand, that she really was a prisoner, held against her will?

He draped himself over her back and pulled her hair away from her ear, his voice transformed to that low growling whisper she'd gone weak in the knees for the first day he came into the bakery. It still resonated deep in her belly and her body rippled with goosebumps, acting against her yet again.

"I can't wait to bury myself in that juicy wet cunt," he said, licking at the skin behind her ear, "to hear you screaming for me to fuck you like a proper whore, yeah?" He bucked his hips against her ass and she cried out in protest, trying to stand up. Once again he dragged her down.

The bones of her spine rippled like a string of pearls beneath her skin and he ran his fingers over each one, down to the soft creamy flesh above the cleft of her ass. 

"You did such a good job today, kitten. I've decided you can have your prize."

Sophie finally lifted her head and looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glittering with tears. He was overtaken by the image of her bent over a table, smiling back at him as he slammed into her tight, virgin pussy.

"Thank you. Thank you, Adam."

"One last thing though, darling," he said, pulling his knife from the pocket of his jeans. 

Again he forced her head down to the ground so he could see the entire flawless canvas of her back, and slowly dragged the blade down from left shoulder blade to right hip, then back up from left hip to right shoulder blade. The X quickly glittered with beads of fresh blood, the skin around the wounds pink with irritation. Sophie screamed in pain and pulled away from him to wrap the blanket around herself. Weak as it was, it still felt like some sort of armor. She pulled a package of cheese and an apple from the bag and sat on her mattress, watching him as she ate like a wounded animal, a caged and beaten dog. 

As he gathered up the flashlights he noticed a small puddle near the door and another in the far corner of the storage room. He said nothing, only tapped his foot in the dirty water and shook his head. As if in warning, a rumble of thunder signaled another round of rain and he kissed her forehead before leaving. After closing her in he could see the windows of the old shop leaking streams of water at their corners and the edges of the basement lined in darkened cement where the rain had seeped in. It was time for a change in plans.

It wasn't until he was gone and the four locks on the door had been secured that Sophie realized he'd left her completely unbound. Somehow she'd earned another reward.


	11. The Flood

The next morning he found the basement flooded, at least two inches of water in some places. Sophie was still sleeping when he came in so he took the opportunity to pull her limp arms over her head and tie them to the eyebolt in the wall. She stirred and he froze in place until she fell back into a deeper sleep, then moved to tie her ankles down. That's when she woke up completely.

"What...what's going on?" She pulled at the restraints and he smiled, liking the way her thin body writhed and twisted, the pained look on her face.

"You're moving sweetheart," he said, splashing his foot in the puddle next to her mattress. "We've had a flood."

"Where? Why did you tie me down if I'm moving? What's happening?"

He pulled the knife from his pocket and walked to the end of the mattress, crouching down to kiss the soles of her feet. She sucked her breath in through clenched teeth and strained her neck to try and see him. 

"Adam please. Untie me. Haven't I been good? Haven't I behaved like you asked? Do you...do you want..."

He raised an eyebrow and kissed the smooth bone on the inside of her ankle.

"Of course I want, love. And I'll get. We just need to take you to a safer location first. And we can't risk you running away."

Her heart started racing. She felt sweat beading on her forehead, a wave of nausea aching in her jaw.

"I won't. I promise. Whatever you...whatever you're going to do..."

Without another word, he flicked the blade up the sole of her foot, splitting the skin. She screamed louder than he'd ever heard and he felt his dick jump in his trousers. He could take her right then, hammer her into the mattress, but instead he drew the blade across the other foot, setting her off wailing again. Soon her feet were shiny with fresh, slippery blood smeared on the skin and he couldn't resist running his finger over the fresh wounds, so bright and alive. She was hysterical, screaming like an animal tangled in barbed wire. He climbed up beside her and held her face still in his hands.

"Awww...shhhhh, baby. Stop crying...I know...I know it hurts," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. "Relax. Relax." He slapped a piece of silver tape over her mouth and kissed her sealed lips, then her nose and finally her forehead, the hair on the back of his neck prickling at the sound of her muffled moans. "I'll be back for you later, baby. Get some rest."

Admittedly, it wasn't the best of ideas to keep her in his flat. Perhaps when the basement flooded he should have just...ended it. Maybe it was a sign from God, wasn't he a big fan of floods after all? But still, he hadn't gotten all he wanted out of Sophie yet...he hadn't grown bored of her, and he wasn't really known for his self control. 

She was still so terrified, so innocent, surprised to find any kind of villainy in the world...and yet beneath there was a hint of something else. He'd seen flashes of it when she kissed him, when she'd crawled to him on her knees and kissed the toes of his boots, the whimper he'd heard when he came in her mouth. 

If he could keep her hidden, clean her wounds and keep her healthy, he could...dig a little deeper...so to speak. He could mold her. Train her.

He'd grown so used to people digging into him to find a heart of gold that he'd never even considered you could also dig for a rock of hard, black coal.

*************************************************

 

He waited until after midnight, when the rain stopped and the clouds broke to reveal the moonlight, to bring her up. She was half asleep, still unable to walk, her dirty cheeks stained with tears that started flowing again when he splashed through the door. 

“Shh, crybaby. Look here, I’ve brought something to shut you up,” he said, ripping the tape off her mouth and pulling two tablets of Prodeine out of his pocket. 

He gave her a bottle of water and she swallowed the pills eagerly, only realizing afterward that she didn’t even bother to ask what they were, just hoped they’d numb her in every sense of the word. She flopped back onto the mattress while he shoved odds and ends from the little makeshift dungeon into his backpack. It didn’t take long for her eyelids to grow heavy, her cheeks warm and pink. He saw her dozing off and knew the time was right.

He re-taped her mouth and wrists, wrapped her tightly in the blanket and carried her up the stairs. She clung to his neck, her head on his shoulder, making quiet noises of confusion muffled by the silver tape over her lips.

“Be quiet now,” he said. “Just close your eyes. I’m taking you home.”

He felt all of her muscles relax and she stopped her wiggling, but he knew it was just because she’d misunderstood.

 

Everything smelled different when she woke up. There was no more must or sweat and she felt sun on her face. Then she remembered the stairs…the fresh air - cool, clean air. A car. When she tried to open her eyes she found herself blindfolded, her mouth covered with tape.

“I’m taking you home.”

It was early morning and he was pacing. The flooded basement had thrown him for a loop and now Sophie was in his flat, right across the street from the bakery where a poster with her face on it hung in the window.

Luckily the filth had already canvassed the area. It was after he'd gotten home from his second visit with Sophie that he heard a knock on the door. Seeing them standing in the doorway made his heart speed up, flashbacks to that dread, that fear of answering questions incorrectly, of being hauled off in cuffs. He reminded himself that no one knew him here. They told him this was his fresh start.

"Alright?" he said, crossing his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

"Matthew Bailey?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm Jack Murphy, this is my partner DI Kelly Donnelly."

He flashed his widest smile at the young woman. She was at least a foot shorter than her partner, her blonde hair slicked back into a low braided ponytail. She can't have been on the force too long. A babe in the woods.

"What can I do for you?" He said, keeping his voice low, smooth. DI Donnelly's cheeks flushed and he winked at her.

"We're looking for a missing girl. Sophie Linden," Murphy said, stepping in front of his inexperienced partner. "You know her?"

"No,"

Murphy held up a picture and then he smiled and nodded.

"Oh Sophie. Little bird works at the bakery. Yeah I get myself a coffee and a muffin before work sometimes. They open early. Kind of a shy one she is."

Kelly spoke up then,

"You ever see her with anyone? Boys? A man?"

He thought for a moment, shaking his head, then opened his eyes wide with sudden, false, recollection.

"There was a guy...a ginger. I'd never seen him in town before. He looked a bit like Harry," he said, smiling at Kelly again. "He was all over her, asking where she lived and all that. I don't know that she liked it. But I was on the other side of the room."

He folded his arms again and leaned on the doorframe again, looked at Kelly and smiled again...

And they bought it.

 

Hearing her clanking the cuffs against the pipes, he crushed his cigarette out and went to check on her. She was curled up on the floor beneath the sink in the bathroom. The window was frosted so she couldn't recognize where she was when he took down her blindfold, letting it hang around her neck.

"Good morning pretty bird," he said.

Her eyes flicked around the room, blinking in the sunlight, following the pattern of the tile on the shiny clean floor. He crouched in front of her and ran the blade of his knife down her cheek. She didn't know yet that he would never cut her face, he'd never mar the creamy porcelain skin, the perfect bow of her exquisite lips...perfect symmetry.

"Now listen darling. I don't want to have to cut you again so we have some new rules, yeah? I'm going to take this off," he said, poking the tip of the knife through the indentation between her lips, slicing the tape. She could feel the metal cool on her tongue. "And you're going to keep quiet, right?"

She nodded.

"You're in my house now, love, and I expect you to behave yourself." He ripped the tape off and she yelped, feeling the dry skin of her lips tear off with it. Keeping close to her, he leaned in and sniffed her neck. "Dirty girl. I bet you'd like a bath, wouldn't you?" He asked, knocking on the side of the claw foot tub. 

Just the thought of it gave her goosebumps. She could feel the warm water on her skin, the suds in her hair.

"Yes please. Please," she said, her voice soft and airy.

"That would be awfully nice of me, wouldn't it, dirty girl?" He said, not moving away from her, his stubbled cheek pressed against hers as he whispered in her ear. "Maybe even a nice clean t-shirt to wear? A comfortable bed to sleep in?"

"Yes, it would be nice of you," she said.

His hand had wandered to her breast and while he spoke he absentmindedly ran his thumb over her nipple that had hardened in the cold.

"I wonder what I'd get from you in return?" he asked, pinching the rosy bud hard between his fingers. 

Again she was ashamed at the electric jolt that it sent between her legs, but she also knew that he was awaiting her answer. The only answer that could keep her safe.

"Anything you want," she said. "I'll do anything in return."


	12. The Bath

He didn’t have any comment on her promise to do “anything” for him, just stood up and started the bathwater running, flicking his fingers under the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. She watched him like he was from another planet, nonplussed at the sight of him in a shiny clean white bathroom, looking for all intents and purposes like an every day citizen, no criminal history, no knife, no woman chained up in the basement. Even when he opened his mouth to speak again, he sounded like a different man. Like a boy really. His voice was soft and raspy, tentative. He was nervous.

“OK, I’ll get you a towel and one of my shirts, yeah? This one takes a while to fill, but I’ll…I’ll undo you and you can get in in a few minutes and relax, ok?"

She nodded, amazed at his generosity, watching him take off his hat and scratch at his matted down hair as he planned his next move.

“Thank you,” she said as his eyes found hers.

“Eh…yeah…” he grumbled something while walking out of the room that was filling with steam.

 

When he came back with a towel and a grey t-shirt he poured a capful of his shampoo under the running water and nodded. He was talking to himself, convincing himself of something, she could tell. Perhaps he was going to let her go, he was going to turn himself in. Perhaps he was going to be the hero, reveal his good side. Perhaps she had brought out the good in him.  
f  
Or he was going to kill her.

“Alright then,” he said, crouching in front of her to unfasten her cuffs and pull the tape off of her ankles. “In you go.”

He picked her up and lowered her into the bath that smelled like musk and spice, like his shirt had smelled when he first came to the bakery. As the water seeped into her wounds she was overcome with pain, a burning ache as the dried blood and dirt and sweat washed away and clouded the water. She shuddered and whimpered and he wrung out a washcloth over her back, making her cry out.

“Stop being so bloody dramatic,” he said, turning the water off. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees as he poured a bowl of water over her head. He knew she was relishing this, this small comfort, this treat. But what she didn't know was that he was protecting himself. She was in the flat now, and it was easier for her to find escape. As long as she stayed, he'd have to keep her clean, under her fingernails, between her legs, her mouth, her hair. The less evidence the better. He massaged shampoo into her scalp, his shampoo, not the sweet raspberry smell that he'd loved so much when he slept beside her. She shivered as he rinsed her hair, wiping the bubbles from her face, and then he stepped back to dry off his hands and lean against the sink to watch her soak.

The thick bubbles hid her body from him but he didn’t mind. She’d be showing it to him soon enough. As he supervised, she ducked her head under the surface and quickly popped back up, slicking her dark hair back from her face. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, her eyes glittering. She was beautiful when she was wet. 

Even as she lay back and let her arms float, her eyes focused on the ceiling, she could feel him watching her. For a moment she wondered what he would do if she went under and stayed there. What if she just opened her mouth and breathed in a gallon of hot water? Would it hurt? How quickly would it be over? Would he pull her out? Would he know what was happening in time? Would it frighten him? She sat up and looked over at him, afraid that he could hear her thoughts.

“What,” he said, not moving. He was chewing on a toothpick, flicking it around in the corner of his mouth, his arms crossed tightly across his chest like a bouncer at a club.

“This is wonderful, thank you,” she said.

“Yeah, you already said that.” His eyes darted around the room, he rubbed his face with one hand, looked at himself in the mirror.

"Could I look?" She asked. He turned around, a puzzled look on his face.

"What?"

"The mirror. Can I look at myself?"

He stepped away from the sink and she stood, steam rising from her pinked skin as the orange afternoon sun shone in through the frosted window, her hair shining and sleek, a flat wide ribbon down between her shoulders.

In another world; a world where he really was Adam and she was here because she wanted to be, he would have told her he loved her just then, that she looked beautiful lit from behind like that, that what she may see as flaws in herself were what made her perfect to him, even the X between her breasts, angry red, looked majestic against her creamy skin. But he wasn’t that man, his life hadn’t worked out that way. She had the marks on her body to prove it.

Her face went pale, her chin trembling as she looked at her eyes, dull and sunken, the cut on her lip where he'd hit her, the bruise on her cheekbone that was purple and yellow. She had no illusions that she'd look beautiful or even healthy, but still, the ghastly reflection deflated her and she sat back down deep in the water again, looking back up at the ceiling.

“Are you ever going to tell me your real name?”

“What?"

“You told me that I knew nothing about you,” she said. “When I was down…” she didn’t finish. “You said I didn’t even know your real name."

“Oh…well…right…don’t worry about it.”

She looked at her hand beneath the water, popped bubbles with her jagged and broken fingernail, then stood.

“I think I can get out now,” she said.

He pulled her out of the bathtub and over to stand in front of him. She winced at the pain of standing on her feet where he’d cut them open, so he made her stand longer, naked, the water dripping from her chin. His smile was wicked and he told her to stand still as he dried her off and pulled the t-shirt over her head. It came just to the tops of her thighs, skimming over the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips. She wrapped the towel he gave her around her hair like a turban and flipped down the toilet seat to sit in front of him. The silence was awkward, waiting for him to take his thank you gift. But instead he just leant down cuffed her wrists behind her back. When he pulled the cloth from his pocket to blindfold her she reared back.

“You don’t…why are you doing that? I know where I am.”

“Don’t fucking argue with me, Sophie. We’ve had such a nice afternoon.”

Still, she was leaning away from him.

“I just…please…please, I promise I won’t look around, I won't look at anything! I’ll look at the floor. I just don’t like that…I don’t like the blindfold. I'll be good. Please.”

He stepped in close to her to hiss in her ear. What she was doing to him without doing anything was throwing him off balance and he didn’t like it anymore. It wasn’t fun anymore. He was afraid he was going to hurt her…beyond reason.

“What the fuck is all this? Calling the shots around here like it’s your fucking flat?” As he spoke she started trembling, shaking her head, the tears dropping from her bottom lashes as she tried to compose herself. Still, she held his gaze, looked him in the eye as a way to keep him calm. “You think that because you suck a guy off once that now he’s yours to walk around lead and collar? Is that what you think, Sophie?”

“N..no. No I don’t. I'm sorry. I was just hoping…”

Suddenly he was very tired. This whole thing was like pushing a car uphill. He wasn't even sure he wanted to fuck her. Maybe he'd just skin up, knock her out and get a good night's sleep. He grabbed her arm and spun her around, pushing her from the bathroom into the front of the flat.

“Well stop doing that,” he said. 

But he didn’t put on the blindfold.


	13. What is Owed

As promised Sophie kept her head down, walking on the outside soles of her scabbed and swollen feet. He put a guiding hand on her neck and said,

"Turn right."

"Where are we going?"

"Harrod's. Where the fuck do you think we're going?"

A few more steps and they were in his bedroom. Keeping her face down, she raised her eyes a bit, examining her surroundings. It was plain; a double bed, dresser, a bench with a t.v. on it, a stack of DVDs and one frame holding a picture of a beautiful woman in a white bikini holding a little boy in a sunsuit on her lap. There were no instruments of torture, no "equipment" of any kind unless she counted the red metal toolbox on the floor with M.B. written on the lid.

"Get on the bed. And stop shaking. I'm not going to do anything to you. I'm completely fucking shattered dealing with you today."

 

She climbed into bed and he clipped her cuffs to a chain on the headboard. Satisfied that she was secure for the moment, he rifled through his top drawer looking for his weed.

"Why did you pick me?" she asked out of the blue. "There are a lot of girls in town. Beautiful girls. Why me?"

"You're weak," he said, lighting the wrinkled joint and taking a small test drag. 

For some reason it hurt her like a punch in the gut. It didn't come as a surprise that he thought that of her, but to hear such...simple reasoning made her feel even more worthless, if it was possible. It was obvious he had been lying since the day he first came to the bakery, and she fell for every move he made.

He saw her deflate as she watched the acrid, cloying smoke trail up toward the ceiling vent. He should have known not to be so literal. Kicking off his boots, he climbed up beside her, holding the cigarette up to her lips.

"This will make you feel better," he said, his voice low and comforting.

She'd never smoked pot before, didn't know the first place to get it, what was good or bad, how to hold the smoke. But she did want to feel better. It was all she ever wanted, so she leaned in and took a deep drag, too deep, and coughed out a cloud of smoke. He patted her on the back a few times and she heard him laugh.

"Take it easy, girl. It ain't a race."

She tried again and held the prickly, stinging smoke deep in her lungs for a count of three before choking again. He took the cigarette back and blew three perfect smoke rings after holding his drag for what seemed like half an hour to her.

"Let me help, babe."

He inhaled again then wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and closed his mouth over hers, blowing the smoke between her slack lips, his tongue following, tickling over her own. When he pulled away she exhaled slowly, beginning to feel the effects. She felt brave, brave and talkative...up for the challenge.

"I thought you were going to say you were mesmerized by me," she said, laying on her side, facing the wall. The air felt heavy on her skin. Her lips and tongue were dry as sandpaper. She silently begged for a glass of ice water. "I thought you'd say you'd been following me, watching me. That you needed to have me or you'd go mad."

He snorted with laughter but quickly composed himself, having no desire to see her collapse into an emotional breakdown. He pinched off the end of the joint and stuffed it into the drawer of his bedside table, wondering how much he could tell her. She might not have heard about Grace, having been just a kid when it happened.

"You're not the first," he said. "When I was in school I had a history teacher named Grace Diamond."

Sophie's tired eyes popped wide open. She'd heard that name before. On television maybe. Or read it in a magazine.

"She was beautiful," he continued. "And she was so kind to me. It was natural that I developed a crush on her." He leaned his head back against the headboard and watched the late afternoon shadows stretch across the white ceiling. He could still remember her smell, the taste of her kiss when her lip was split and bleeding, the way her eyes glittered for hours after she was gone, staring at him. "I thought if I could just...keep her, have her near me, that she would see we were meant for each other. I felt...good...when I was with her."

"Did you kill her?"

For a minute he didn't answer. It had been an accident! She had pushed and pushed and fought and fought and she refused to listen. He thought she'd be able to take the punishment.

"Yes,"

It was a while before either of them spoke again. Sophie was warm and sleepy and sort of numb. His answer hadn't scared her because she'd expected it. Perhaps her numbness was her surrender. She knew she was going to suffer Grace Diamond's fate. The room was dusky with shadow and she could see the very tops of the trees waving out the window.

He shifted on the bed and she heard him undressing. Then he was pressed up against her back, his arm over her waist while he brushed her damp hair away from her ear.

"The point is Sophie, that I've never felt the urge to do any of that again...until I saw you."

And in the darkness, Sophie smiled.

He was tired of talking, answering questions, of what she was doing to him. Pulling her close, he flipped her onto her back and held her face in one hand, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"I was up all night getting ready for you and now I'm exhausted. We're going to sleep. Don't scream or I'll cut your throat before anyone shows up to rescue you, yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, her eyes confused and sad, her arms sore. "Can you move my arms though?"

"What?"

"I won't be able to sleep with my arms behind my back. Can you cuff them in front?"

For a minute he just stared at her, incredulous at her cockiness. Or maybe she was just naive. Rolling on top of her he uncuffed her hands and pulled them in front, twisting them so they were back to back before locking them together again, a bit tighter than before.

"You've got quite the list of things you owe me for," he said, straddling her hips, grinding against her, yet there was no fear in her eyes.

"When are you going to take it?" she asked.

"Take what?"

"What I owe you," she whispered in the dark. 

Her face was disappearing in the shadows, just her eyes glittering as she searched his. Her voice sounded...older...huskier. He got off of her and pulled her back against him, hooking one leg between hers and wrapping both arms around her.

"Careful what you wish for, babe," is all he said before falling asleep.


	14. Just Once

Sophie woke up in the night. The cool sheets and the thick down pillow made her think for a moment that it was all over and she was safe at home. The metal cuffs cutting into her wrists assured her that it was not the case. Turning onto her side she stared at his face, calm and soft in sleep, the blue white moonlight reflecting off of his jawbone, his full soft lips fallen open, warmth radiating off his skin, their bodies only inches apart. He almost looked like a different person without all the tension and anger.

As she attempted to adjust her hands within the cuffs her fingers brushed over his hardened prick. What was he dreaming about? Her? Seeing that he was still sound asleep she touched him again, drawing one finger down over the skin, soft yet taut, warm over hard muscle.

It seemed shallow and inconsequential, but Sophie didn’t want to die without knowing what it was like to have someone moving inside you, to feel an almost frightening, powerful climax, to have a man kiss her between her legs, to leave her sweating and exhausted, asleep on his chest. The thought of it made her muscles twitch and clench inside her. He was the only man she knew of who actually wanted to have sex with her, and she knew there was a part of him that wanted her to want it too, no matter how much he tried to frighten her. If she was going to die at his hand, he would at least give her one last chance, one last request. He owed her that much. She wouldn’t ask for anything, she wouldn’t struggle anymore…he wouldn’t have to hurt her if only he would get her off…just once.

 

He stirred ever so slightly as she continued to touch him, but before he could wake up she leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, licking between his lips to open them. He made a noise and turned his head. She tried again, pressing her body against his, giving a tiny moan of encouragement. Then he opened his eyes and pulled away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He looked shocked, appalled at her behavior. In truth he’d been expecting it. Grace had tried it too, this false seduction, an attempt to get him in a place of weakness and then run out the door. He just didn’t think she’d try it so soon.

“I...I wanted to kiss you,” she said, her eyes wide, her lips wet. That’s when he noticed her hand on his cock, her fingers curled around it. When he spoke again he wasn’t sure what her game was…his question was genuine.

“Sophie. What is this?”

She stroked him gently, as well as she could with her hands cuffed together, and kissed him again, harder, pleased to feel him kiss back, his hand tangled in her hair, holding her lips to his, their tongues tangled and hot. He pushed her onto her back and pressed her into the mattress, pulling her head back by the hair to expose her throat. While licking and kissing at her neck, her jaw, the skin behind her ear, he could hear her whining, muttering ‘yes’ under her breath. He pushed off of her, holding himself over her, searching her face. There were tears in her eyes.

“I know you’re going to kill me. I’m not a fool. And you know I’m a virgin. I just…I didn’t want to die without knowing…without having…”

And there was his wicked smile, white teeth glinting in the darkness. She couldn’t even say the words. He brushed her hair away from her face and leaned in close. His erection was hard against her thigh, her hands painfully trapped between their bodies.

“Having what Sophie?”

She closed her eyes and swallowed, took a deep breath and said,

“I want you to fuck me.”

The sound of the words coming out of her mouth took him aback. Her voice was low and raspy as she tried to whisper and it came out sounding breathless and eager. She wasn’t tricking him, but he shook his head nonetheless.  Because this wasn’t supposed to happen this way. She wasn’t supposed to give in, to put out like the other girls, trying to change him. She was supposed to be afraid, she was supposed to beg for her life, to see him for who he really was, to tell him that he scared her. She wasn’t supposed to worm her way inside. Looking down at her though, he did see fear in her eyes. A different sort. She was afraid of him rejecting her, of him telling her he didn’t want to fuck her, that she wasn’t worth it. He’d forgotten she was just a school girl after all, and how twisted up their sense of self was. He let out a short laugh of disbelief that made her voice more desperate.

“I won’t fight you. I’ll do anything you ask, anything, if you…if you tell me how. I’ll say whatever you want. Just…”

She was beautiful in the darkness. He wanted her, every part of her. And he’d imagined her giving herself willingly, hadn’t he? He’d imagined her screaming his name, her fingernails digging into his back.

“Just what?” He said, already nipping at her jaw bone, taking her earlobe between his teeth.

“Just…be nice to me once,” she said. The words were so quiet he wouldn’t have heard them if he hadn’t been nuzzling her neck. It tightened a knot low in his belly, an ache.

He sat up then and pulled up her hands, hooking them to the chain he’d put on the headboard. Then, running his hands down the length of her arms he took her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He kissed her on the mouth, deeper than ever before with something more behind it than lust. It made her face hot, the back of her neck tingled.

“I can be so nice baby,” he whispered. “But you have to lay still for me, yeah?”

She nodded and he reached back to pull his knife off of the bedside table and slipped it beneath the t-shirt she was wearing, slicing it up the front, ripping it off of her chest to expose her. She exhaled with relief and he bent over to kiss the tops of her breasts, to swirl his tongue over her nipples until they pebbled in his mouth. Sophie moaned as he moved lower, kissing her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel, sending electric shocks of pleasure down between her legs.

“Open,” he said, his hands between her thighs. She complied instantly, spreading her legs while he kissed his way down the insides of her thighs, to the skin on the back of her knees. The sounds of her mewling, the way she sucked her breath in through her teeth made him harder still, but she wasn’t ready for him yet.

He nestled himself between her legs, opening her folds with two fingers, his thumb rubbing over her clit to gauge her reaction. She gasped. Her back arched up. He could smell her musk as her juices started to flow. He slipped two fingers inside of her, she was unimaginably tight, but slick.

“Is that nice, Sophie?” He asked, pumping his fingers slowly, coaxing her open, warming her up. She bent her knees, her legs spread further, aching for him to go deeper, faster, but not daring to ask.

“Y..yes.

He was torturing her. She felt herself descending into something. She was overcome with a feeling of delicious, dirty…she was horny. When he moved his fingers she could hear that she was getting wetter. He pushed deeper, but still slowly, even when she bucked her hips against his hand he stopped and kept her still with one hand flat on her belly.

“Shhhh baby, you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

And then she felt it, warm and wet, his tongue sliding between his fingers, licking and kissing her, sucking her clit between his lips just to hear her yelp. Her eyelids fluttered, she grabbed at the chains that held her cuffs, she couldn’t breathe.

 

It had been a long time since he’d buried himself in such a sweet little pussy, and knowing that he was the first…the only…made him enjoy it even more; the hot silken skin, the earthy taste, the way she squirmed. Her legs trembled as he held them and he could tell by her movements, by the way she gasped and swore at him that she was close to coming. If he fucked her he would be so blinded by his own pleasure he’d miss hearing her, seeing her climax…because of him. Instead he held her open and thrust his tongue deep inside, his thumb strumming at her clit, his fingers digging into her skin and that’s when Sophie's orgasm began.

He heard the headboard slam against the wall and her legs clamped down against his shoulders. She screamed in what sounded like agony and pushed hard against his mouth.

“Oh fuck…oh my god…Adam…I can't...”

He pulled away, and slid up the length of her body closing his mouth over hers to let her taste herself as he fucked her with his fingers, pulling at her insides as she crushed his hand between her thighs. She moaned against him, her chest heaving with breath and he whispered

“Matthew,” into her ear. Her eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed and he kissed her again, nudging her legs open. "Say it."

"M...Matthew,"

“Are you ready for me, baby?”

She couldn’t speak. He was teasing her, the head of his cock just barely brushing against her still quivering cunt. When she didn’t answer he went up on his knees and leaned over to pull something from the bedside table. The key. He uncuffed her hands and kissed the insides of her wrists, sucking her thumb into his mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him down into a kiss.

“I’m ready.”

It wasn’t nearly as painful as she expected and what pain she felt was exquisite. He thrust inside her as deep as he could go and she wrapped her legs around his thighs as he began his rhythm, his breath ragged in her ear, the hair on his chest scratching against her. It wasn’t long before she felt her own arousal building again, that instinctual desire to rut, to be animal. He fucked her harder, his hands pulling at her hair, his tongue deep in her mouth mimicking each thrust of his cock, his groans vibrating over her lips. When he felt her wrap her arms around him, dig her fingernails into his back, he knew it was nearly the end. The heat, the pressure built deep inside him, the sound of her breath, her quiet whining pushing him ahead.

“Fuck,” she said, and he loved hearing her say it. So wrong coming from such a nice girl’s lips. “Fuck me harder, I want to come again.”

That was all it took before he grabbed her hips and pumped his final thrust deep inside, his whole body shuddering as her own muscles clenched around him, milking him dry.

 

He collapsed on top of her and she kept herself tangled around him like a vine, holding him inside her as they caught their breath. He was lightheaded and exhausted, confused…and calm. After a moment, Sophie ran her fingers through his hair and over his back, tracing one of the tattoos on his shoulder. He shivered and rolled off of her, feeling a sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.

“Was that nice enough for you Sophie?” He asked, his eyes closed to the grey light of approaching dawn.

She rolled over to hold his face in her hands, covering him with kisses. Her lips nipped at his eyelids, his nose, each of his beautiful lips, the scar in his eyebrow, the bone of his jaw.

“Thank you. Thank you Matthew. Thank you for all of it. It was wonderful.”

He grunted in response and she slid down to rest her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. Reluctantly he put his arm around her and pulled the blanket up to cover them. Turning his head, he was drawn to the handcuffs dangling empty on the other side of the bed but he was too tired to reach for them.

“Sleep tight baby,” he said. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”


	15. The Movie

They slept for hours, until the bedroom was white with filtered sun, the rain having finally broken during the night. Matthew woke first, his muscles stiff and aching from having not changed position during the night. Sophie had turned away from him at some point and was curled onto her side, one arm stretched above her head. Before getting up he slipped her limp hand into the cuff and clicked it shut tight enough to pinch a wrinkle into her skin, leaving the other one, the one resting on her hip, free.

He pulled on a pair of jeans, not bothering to button up, looked for his cigarettes then pulled the blanket up to Sophie’s shoulder before leaving the room. When she woke up he would know her game, whether this was indeed a trick to bargain for her freedom or if for some unknown reason she actually wanted…

He found a bottle of beer in the fridge and drank it in three gulps, going to the window to look down at the bakery. People sat outside with tea and cookies, the black and white picture of Sophie that hung in the window completely ignored. How many of those signs are put up every day around London, right next to the dogs and cats? And just like those precious pets, they’re forgotten in moments, after they’ve clucked their tongues and shaken their heads, whispering “poor girl”.

“She’s right here!” he said, smiling to himself. “I just got done railing her into a stupor.”

 

He finished his smoke and crushed it out on the window sill, then went to run himself a bath to clear his thoughts. While he stretched out in the water he lit another cigarette and wondered where or when he went so dark. Perhaps it was when he first saw Mrs. Diamond standing in front of his class and realized he was two inches taller than her, that she was smaller than his mother, that it didn’t matter how old he was or how old she was, he could easily overpower her, and every day he grew stronger.

He’d felt the stirrings of arousal before that day of course, cleaned his duvet alone in the dark after a wet dream, looked through dirty magazines while locked in the bathroom, wondering if the fourteen-year-old girl next door could be twisted into those positions. But they’d never been violent thoughts, never visions of girls in his class tied up and crying. Maybe it wasn’t Mrs. Diamond that did it. 

Maybe it was the movie.

In the days before the term started Matthew and his older brother went to the movies to get out of their father’s hair. He was a short tempered drunk who was either forever trying to talk his two fine sons into getting pissed with him or blaming them for every wrong that ever befell him. Both incarnations were unbearable. Luckily, he was usually so loaded he wouldn’t take notice of the boys’ disappearance (or the tenner gone from his wallet) and even if he did, Matthew was usually able to convince him that he’d actually given them permission to go to the movies! Suggested it, in fact!

He flicked the butt of the cigarette out of the tub and into the sink, giving himself a cheer and a round of applause. 

“It’s good!” he said aloud.

He ducked his head under the water and scratched at his scalp before adding shampoo. He would need a haircut soon. He would need new boots soon. Which meant he would need to go back to work soon, something he didn’t want to think about. The loose ends.

It was his brother Eddie who suggested they see the movie, having read that there was nudity AND violence. Matthew would watch anything that let him check out for an hour or two. He would cast himself in the leading role and save the day or whatever, drive fast cars through the streets of L.A., solve crimes, fall in love, maybe fight Batman – but the movies never took hold of him and shook him by the shoulders like they did some people. He remembered Eddie coming home after seeing Rocky IV at a friend’s house. He’d been nearly electric with newfound inspiration, wanting to take boxing lessons, join a gym. He started jogging every day in a gray tracksuit. He was obsessed. Matthew had been jealous. He wanted to be excited, too. 

On the screen a woman in a short black skirt was grabbed from behind. The man wore black leather gloves and covered her mouth with his hand. She writhed and twisted in his arms, one of her black high-heeled shoes falling off. Then suddenly she went limp, soft. The man had chloroformed her and now she was just a weak, pliable object. She reminded Matthew of low hanging willow branches. Her arm hung down from her shoulder in a beautiful, graceful curve, her fingers like the end feathers of a bird wing, and her head fell backwards when the man picked her up, revealing a long, arched neck, creamy peach skin. 

The movie went on, but Matthew’s brain continued to replay the woman’s abduction on a loop and by the time she showed up on the screen again, his cock was so hard it ached. She was tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, begging for her life while her captor watched, laughing, his knife glinting in the darkness. Matthew excused himself to the men’s room and furiously jacked off to release the pressure.

After his reaction to the movie, Matthew began seeking out similar “entertainment”. He had heard of bondage before, people made jokes about Miss Hawkins the literature teacher being a secret dominatrix after school, and he knew there were magazines and movies showing women tied up and gagged, abused in a thousand different ways. But for some reason these never gave him the same intense reaction. Maybe it was the ridiculous costumes, the black latex and fuzzy handcuffs. But even the hardcore pictures of girls totally naked, humiliated and debased, their legs spread wide with the rope tied in complicated knots did nothing for him. In fact it wasn’t until he had Mrs. Diamond in the garden shed that he realized the difference. It wasn’t until his prick hardened instantly after he cut the first x into Grace’s thigh that he found what he'd needed all that time.

As he got out of the tub he heard the unmistakable sound of the headboard knocking against the wall and the metal of her cuffs jingling. More than angry he was disappointed. It upset him that he’d let himself believe her, that he'd gone so soft that he’d allowed himself to fall for her faked innocence and play right into her plans. One night of sex, one mind blowing orgasm and he was putty in her hands, a typical boy, lead around by his dick. And becaue of it she only had one hand restrained, and with him out of the room she was trying to escape.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and grabbed his knife from where it lay on the counter next to the sink. He wasn’t sure how to punish her, but the way his heart started pounding let him know that she wouldn’t soon recover. 

The problem with the girls in the photos was the look in their eyes. The problem was they were never afraid.


	16. Good Girl

She woke up alone - only one of her hands cuffed, no blindfold, no tape over her mouth, no collar, with a window and a door right in front of her. That’s when she realized she was losing her mind. She was failing at basic self-preservation. Matthew had given her so many chances to escape, to call for help, to kick him in the face and run, that it was almost as if he was testing her. But she’d been so preoccupied with what else he could give her that all the opportunities had just passed her by.

Adjusting herself into a more comfortable position, she felt the stickiness on the insides of her thighs. The t-shirt he’d cut from her breasts lay in shreds on the sheet beside her. She smiled. Even in this wretched captivity, with the promise of certain death in the air…it had all lived up to her expectations. Matthew had known just what she needed. He fucked her. It wasn’t the fumbling first time that most girls her age succumbed to either, with some nervous idiot in the back of a rusty car. He’d known what he was doing and he'd taken his time.

And he’d been nice.

Still, the wounds on the bottoms of her feet ached in the open air, and her head pounded from dehydration. Her hand was still chained to the headboard tight enough that her fingers were puffed and red, but perhaps now there was a way for her to stay alive. Or stay alive a bit longer at least. Although she’d been lightheaded and reeling from her own climax, Sophie made a point of keeping her eyes open wide when he came inside her, watching his face, the way his body jerked and twisted on top of her while she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer. It surprised her to feel the heat spill out inside her while his mouth fell open into a perfect O, his lips shining and wet with her juices, his brow furrowed deep over closed eyes. She’d done that to him. The feel of her, the taste of her, the way she moved with him inside her had put him in that ecstasy. When he’d finished she felt him trembling like he’d come in from the cold. He'd clung to her like his last hope, his breath shuddering out through his teeth as he placed a kiss on the x he’d carved into her chest. 

Remembering it now she felt a jolt of energy between her legs, a wave of involuntary muscle contractions. Her legs fell open and she looked out into the hallway through the half open door before letting her hand wander down to feel the residue on her thighs, to drag her fingers through her matted pubic hair. If she closed her eyes she could recall exactly how his tongue felt flicking inside her pussy, soft and warm. She stroked herself and shuddered. 

“What have we here?”

Matthew leaned against the wall with a towel around his waist, one eyebrow raised, a smile on his lips. She drew her hand back and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“No no, keep going girl,” he said. It didn’t sound like an order. More of a request...a desire. His voice was soft. Still, she hesitated. “Keep fucking yourself with your fingers Soph,” he said again, this time a little bit firmer.

She closed her eyes and stretched out her legs, slipping one finger between her lips, parting them enough to feel the slick insides. She imagined it was his finger, that he was there, then let herself venture a bit deeper, with longer, slower strokes, rubbing the slick bead of her clit just once. It made her gasp. 

“Use another one,” he said. His voice was closer. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eye, but now she wanted it. She wanted to feel that climax and didn’t dare ask him to do it for her. But she knew better than to disobey. “Two fingers Sophie, do it.”

She did as he asked, letting her legs spread open further, pushing both fingers inside and up just as he had done, licking at her lips to mimic the feel of his kiss. Her back arched and she pumped harder when she heard his groan of approval. 

“Ohh, you gonna come for me girl?” he asked, his hands on her legs, holding them apart at the knees. All she could do was nod, feeling that unmistakable pressure, the quivering muscles. Now she had an appetite for it. Insatiable, like an animal in heat. She whined and felt him pull her hand away to suck her fingers deep in to his mouth, licking them up and down, sliding his tongue between them. She squeezed her thighs together trying to get herself off.

"Uh uh," he said, holding her legs apart again. Then the hot fullness of his cock driving in as deep as it would go took her breath away.

He flattened himself on top of her, his hips bucking hard against her while he closed a hand over her throat, making her open her eyes. Still, she could feel the approaching orgasm like a fast moving storm and she flicked her tongue out to tempt him into a kiss. He pulled back and held her face in one hand while he fucked her.

“Who makes you come Sophie?”

When she didn’t answer he paused in his thrusting, pulling out of her completely. She twisted and arched her back beneath him, mewling like a hungry cat but he only laughed.

“Who makes you come Sophie?”

“You do,” she answered, her voice nothing more than a breath. 

He pushed into her again, now slower, his mouth closed over hers, his tongue dipping deep into her mouth. Picking up the pace, he asked her again.

“Who else? Who else makes you come?’

She was seeing sparks in her vision, a mix of pain and ecstasy between her legs as he hammered against her. 

“No one. Just you.”

"That's right bitch, no one but me. Not even you. Not anymore."

Unwilling to play his game any longer, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss, her fingers tangled into his wet hair, her hips bucking up against his thrusts as her pussy clenched around him. He stiffened and groaned against her lips then let his full weight fall on her as he caught his breath. While he recovered she kept her legs hooked over his, the fingers of her free hand tracing circles on his back, a sense of satisfied possession filling her heart.

“Fuck girl,” he muttered under his breath. “What are you doing to me?”

Sophie said nothing, but she assumed that now she had nothing more to fear from Matthew Bailey.


	17. Shopping

For years he’d been so angry. And as he rested for a moment in Sophie’s arms he knew that it hadn’t been because of the girls who tempted him, it had been because he’d given in to their temptation. If he was a good boy he’d win. They would touch and kiss and fuck him. Even the women who wanted him to be bad had only wanted a certain kind of bad, a young, handsome villain fresh scrubbed to suit their needs. One who wouldn’t cross the line.

But Sophie. Naïve, innocent, insecure little Sophie had seen exactly who he was and wanted him anyway. She even thought he was still going to kill her but she ran her fingers through his wet hair all the same.

Perhaps she was as twisted up inside as he was. Perhaps she loved being afraid as much as he loved fear.

Perhaps…

“Matthew,”

He liked the way his name sounded on her lips, like it never really ended, just faded from her tongue, as if she were trying to hold onto it.

“Yeah?”

“I have to pee.”

He pulled himself off of her and looked at her hair fanned out on the pillow like spilled paint. The bruise on her cheek was turning purple but still her eyes were clear and bright, her lips dark and rosy, two little peaks below her slim nose. He reached out and traced the outline of her mouth with his fingertip. It was slight, nearly imperceptible, but she was trembling. There was still a bit of fear left.

“Come on,” he said, grabbing the key to uncuff her. 

From the bedroom to the bathroom there was no way she could see out to the bakery but he still held both of her hands behind her back as they headed out.

“Wait,” he said, turning back.

He closed the bedroom door and she stood obediently behind him, her hands folded behind her back, her eyes on the floor. It reminded him of a statue he’d seen once. She’d smoothed down her hair and pulled it all to fall over her left shoulder, hiding part of her face.

He pulled a fresh t-shirt from the second drawer and she smiled, her cheeks turning a deep pink.

“I’m sorry about your other shirt,” she said, but the hint of a grin on her face let him know it was actually a pleasant memory for her, having the fabric sliced by the knife, torn from her chest. With two fingers under her chin he tipped her head up to make her look him in the eye. Her pupils dilated, the smile disappeared.

“Yeah, well I’m not exactly bursting with extra cash right now," he said, his face just inches from hers. "so don’t expect it next time.”

Sophie looked up at him with her head cocked to the side as if making sure she'd heard correctly. It was Matthew’s way of telling her she could relax, that she was safe, she’d pleased him...for now. She may have been expecting some dramatic declaration of love but this was all he could manage.

He walked her to the bathroom with one firm hand on the back of her neck and closed the door with both of them inside, sitting on the edge of the tub.

“Go on,” he said, chewing at a hangnail on his right thumb.

She hesitated, but sat down on the toilet, curling forward to wrap her hands around her knees, trying to hide herself.

“Don’t be bashful there cricket," he said, feeling his pulse quicken at her shyness. He winked at her and his lips curled into a knowing grin. "there's nothing I ain’t seen before.”

Once she was finished she washed her hands, splashed water on her face then looked in the mirror above the sink, biting her bottom lip. He could see the gears turning in her mind. She watched him in the reflection and opened and closed her mouth a few times before she spoke.

"I know why you think I did it. Why you think I let you..."

"Oh...you let me..." he said, still smiling, but now he made sure to show her that he wasn't done in by her charms. 

"Why I asked you..."

"...to fuck you," he said, enthralled by her squirming, her nervousness at saying the word she was screaming in his ear just an hour ago.

"I'm fucked up," she said, startled by her own volume. "My brain. The things I think about...that I fanta....I just...I'm fucked up."

"Yes, I'm realizing that now," he said, his eyebrows raised in amusement. For some reason seeing her off kilter was a relief, a weight lifted from his shoulders. 

For a moment neither of them spoke...or moved. The room was silent until Sophie turned, little drips of water dark on the front of her t-shirt, her hands folded in front of her closed legs, hiding herself from him, her eyes trained on the floor.

“What now?” He asked.

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” she said, still not looking up.

And even though he knew she didn’t mean right this very minute he asked her,

“Are you hungry?” and she nodded. “Ok then, I’ll go get you something to eat.

He’d already decided he would get her something to wear, too. Maybe books, or movies or something, and definitely he would buy her a bottle of shampoo…one that smelled like raspberries or vanilla, one that smelled the way her hair smelt the day he met her.

He lead her back to the bedroom and nodded toward the bed.

"Lay down."

She dutifully stretched out on her back with her arms over her head. He cuffed both hands to the headboard and put on her red collar with a short chain that he locked to one of the legs of the bed. 

“I won’t be gone long, but I’m gonna cover your mouth anyway. I’m not sure I trust you not to scream yet,” he said.

Amazingly she nodded in understanding, watching him tear the shredded t-shirt on the floor into long strips. He rolled one into a tight coil and shoved it far into her mouth then tied the other one around her head to hold it in. She could breathe, and she was comfortable on the bed. And she hadn’t seen him flash the knife at her in hours. Before he left, Matthew kissed her on the forehead and smoothed her hair with his palm.

“Just get some sleep. I’ll come back soon.”

He had no friends in Hackney, no family, no associates. No one would question why he was shopping or what he was shopping for, but still he felt uncomfortable being so close to all of the signs looking for Sophie Linden, so he drove out to Leyton just to be safe. It was a new feeling for him, to be needed, to be missed…to be wanted. It was a feeling that made him want to be quick about his errands and get home to his Sophie, to see her eyes light up when he walked in the room, to feel her fingers on his scalp, her tongue, her skin. To see how she would show her gratitude.

He bought cheese and apples, bread, tins of vegetable soup, milk and cereal, even some chocolate chip ice cream. Then he made his way over to the clothing section and found a pair of soft blue pajamas, the top had a bit of lace on the hem and the bottoms were more like shorts. He could picture her wearing them and he smiled to himself. He got her a white nightgown and two pair of knickers. Then he picked out shampoo, pink bubblebath, a hairbrush, a toothbrush and some lotion that smelled like the cupcakes in her bakery. That was enough. It was time to go home.

But someone had been following Matthew. Someone had recognized him the minute he walked in the store. He hadn’t seen him since he was fourteen - but his face, the way he carried himself, that bloody toothpick that always hung out of his mouth…it was most definitely him. Completely oblivious to the man five steps behind him, Matthew got in line and paid for his shopping spree, thanking the checkout girl with a wink and a devastating smile, a true predator at work.

Making a scene would achieve nothing. Making a scene would make Matthew the victim, just a guy out shopping, accosted by a crazy store manager for no reason at all! So instead he followed him outside, slipped into his car and followed him out of the parking lot, out onto the B112 all the way to Pembury Road then west. What a nice little life this murderer had made for himself! What a pretty, sunshiney street he lived on! From his car he watched Matthew unload his bags and head into the building. By then his blood was boiling, but he would bide his time. He would find out if there was something in Matthew Bailey's life that meant more to him than anything else. Perhaps there was something in his life that would destroy him if it were taken from him. There had to be.

So instead of confronting the man who murdered his wife, Robert Diamond got back in his car and made his way back to Leyton, but he knew one thing for sure. Matthew Bailey’s days were numbered.


	18. Chapter 18

When she heard the front door click, unlock and open Sophie did her best to sit up straight, to show that she was glad to see him.

“Happy Christmas,” he said, throwing one of his many shopping bags on the bed and the rest on the floor.

After taking a minute to stretch he knelt on the bed straddling her and held her jaw tight in one hand, staring into her eyes, silent, as if he were searching for something. When he finally blinked and looked away, she’d felt like she’d failed him, but he only got up and unlocked her cuffs, unclipped the chain from her collar and untied the gag from her mouth. For a few seconds she just sat there, working her jaw open and closed.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Get dressed,” he said, pointing at the plastic bag on the bed. “When you’re done you come into the living room, got it?” Instead of the bag he was pointing at her.

She nodded.

The pajamas he’d bought for her were gorgeous and soft, pale blue satin with a bit of cream colored lace trimming the top of the camisole. It was a bit too large though, and when she slipped it over her head, the thin spaghetti straps allowed the front to hang low enough that the shadow of her nipples was visible beneath the delicate lace. Once she was dressed, she caught her reflection in the full length mirror on the back of the door and touched the healing X on her chest.

This was a sort of suicide she was committing, swearing her loyalty to Matthew, promising not to ever scream or try to run, promising to do whatever he asked, whenever he asked it of her. But it was also a way to stay alive. By promising to be his she would give up everything – her family that still looked for her, vacations on the Isle of Skye, going for walks in the park, school, her future. But in exchange he would give her everything she needed and the twisted things she dreamt about, the fantasies. He would take care of her. He would keep her safe. There would be no one calling her a stuck up prude or a ‘that homely little bakeshop girl’. No one would start nasty rumors about her, leave nasty notes in her work apron. No one would ever steal her bookbag to throw it in the creek anymore. Matthew was going to save her…from all of it.

“You comin’ out here girl?”

The sound of that gravelly voice from low in his throat gave her goosebumps.

The front room of the flat was nearly empty but for a few boxes and pillows, an old wooden coffetable with a television on it. Matthew sat slouched down in an old leather recliner, a green bottle of beer dangling from between two fingers that also held a cigarette, freshly lit, trailing a white spiral of smoke up to the ceiling. She fought the urge to run towards him, to curl up at his feet like a dog.

When she stepped in the room, Matthew did his best to hide his excitement, his sudden…exhilaration at seeing her, so soft and feminine, the red Xs highlighting her milky skin. She took a careful step forward.

“Ah ah!” he said, wagging a finger at her. His cigarette was now gripped tightly between his lips and the smoke made his eyes squint up, like he was looking into the sun. He sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Outside it was starting to rain again. He took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked ashes onto the hardwood floor.

“Get down on your knees and crawl,” he said.

When she hesitated Matthew lifted up one of his booted feet to reveal the knife, pointing right at her, just waiting for her to disobey. They locked eyes in a moment of understanding and Sophie sunk down on all fours. As she crawled towards him he could see her small breasts bouncing with every movement, her rich auburn hair pulled over and hanging over her left shoulder. She stopped in front of his feet, but stayed down, her eyes on the floor.

Matthew looked her over, the X on her back, the part of her hair, the way her delicate spine dipped and made her ass stick out so prominently. He stroked her hair for a minute, running his fingers over her scalp and the back of her neck, knowing now what such things did to her.

“So, tell me my little Sophie, are you happy to see me?”

“Yes,” she said, still looking at the floor. “Thank you for the pajamas. For everything.”

“Anything for my little girl,” he said, with a hint of sarcasm that was lost on her. “Help me with my boots, love. I’m tired.”

Knowing it was a test of her submissiveness she immediately began untying the laces of the black leather boots, pulling his foot into her lap as she sat back on her heels. Before removing each boot she bent forward and kissed it, then pulled it off and set it to the side. When she was finished she sat up, her hands folded in her lap. Matthew took the last drag off his cigarette and dropped it in the empty beer bottle then leaned forward and hooked his finger under her red collar, pulling her close, kissing her hard on the mouth. Her whole body shivered. When he pulled away from her lips he was smiling, but still held tight to her collar, twisting it a bit so it was tight against her throat. He pulled her closer to him, so that his lips were near her ear. He could smell her. Her arousal.

“You know what I think? I think you like me, baby.”

She murmured some sort of reply, some nonsensical agreement. It was hard for her to breathe.

“I think you like the way I fuck,” he said, and she could feel the hard sounds of the word against her ear. She nodded. “I think that even if I opened that door and called you a cab to take you home to your mommy you’d stay right here, kneeling at my feet, drooling for my prick, wouldn’t you, Soph?”

She lifted her eyes to stare into his, to make sure he understood.

“Yes,” she said.

“Even if I still want to hurt you? Even if I still want to watch you bleed?” He asked, his dick hardening, straining against the front of his jeans. “Even if I love making you cry? Torturing you? Seeing you suffer and beg? You’d stay here wouldn’t you? You’d stay for the cock.”

“Yes,” she said, the edges of her vision feathered with darkness as he twisted the collar harder. She was dizzy, hot. There was a throbbing pressure behind her eyes.

“Oh you were a ripe little cherry when I picked you off the street. Now you’re a proper slut, aren’t you? I could teach you to do anything. I could turn you into the filthiest whore in London.” Finally he let go and as the oxygen and blood rushed through her body, she fell back on her heels again. “You don’t get a second chance with this Sophie. If I ever…ever catch you trying to leave me, or trying to scream for help, or telling anyone what I’ve done to you, I’ll cut your fucking head off do you understand me?”

She did.

“Get up.”

Sophie got to her feet and stood in front of him. He ran his hands up the sides of her legs, under the satin shorts of her pajamas. He purred his approval, slipping his fingers between her thighs, rubbing the material against her soaking pussy. With his hands on her hips he pulled her closer so she was straddling his legs. He pulled the shorts down with one swift tug and she stepped out of them, her legs on either side of him. His thumb teased her, slick and warm, he stroked her until she began to tremble, then leaned forward and bent down to lick her, holding her legs steady as his tongue lapped up her juices. Still, he didn't want her to come just yet.

“Unbuckle me, babe,” he said, wiping his mouth off on her stomach and leaning back in his chair, king of his castle, the captain, the boss.

Sophie crouched in front of him and unbuckled his black belt, tossing it to the side, then undid his jeans, pulling his prick free, and standing again. She stared hungrily as he stroked himself, waiting for instructions; not daring to touch or put her mouth on it without permission. Once he’d pulled down his jeans and threw them aside he reached for her hips again, then slowly pulled her down onto him, groaning at the tight, slippery warmth. Sophie put her hands on his chest and tilted her hips tentatively, unsure of what he wanted from her.

“Go on then, get yourself off. Don't play innocent with me. You know what to do.”

While she bucked her hips against him his hands roamed up under her camisole, massaging her breasts, twisting the tiny pink buds of her nipples between his fingers until she yelped. He pulled the camisole over her head and sucked the hardened peaks into his mouth, flicking them with his tongue. She could feel it, like a lightning bolt from his lips to her clit, a jolt that made her gasp. She hooked her ankles around his legs and braced herself on either side of the chair, driven by her own lust she began pushing harder, faster, her hips rolling against him like a wave. She loved the feeling of his thickness inside her, stretching her. She loved the straining noises he made as he thrust up inside her, the concentration on his face. When he stopped moving against her she bent over to kiss him on the mouth.

“Don’t stop. Please,” she breathed against his lips. “Please don’t stop.”

Without a word he pushed her off and stood, pulling her up by the wrist. They stood face to face and he pinned her arms behind her back, bending her backwards with the force of his lips against hers. He broke the kiss first and while dragging his fingers between her legs, pinching and stroking her, teasing her to the point that she whined in his ear, he said,

“I wanna show you something baby.”

Still holding her arms tight behind her back he spun Sophie around so that she could see the living room window. She didn’t want him to show her, she wanted Matthew to fuck her. She wanted him to keep touching her, teasing her, kissing her, but he just pushed her closer and closer until her breasts were smashed up against the glass, her forehead pressed against the cool window. As he nuzzled and sucked at her neck she felt the hard length of him in the small of her back. She didn’t look down.

“Spread your legs like a good girl,” he said, slapping the outside of her thigh. 

She obeyed, bending slightly at the waist to open herself to him. He rubbed his hand over the length of the X he’d carved into her skin, now just two pink scratches, closed and healing. He traced them with his tongue, tasting the coppery scabs, the salt of her sweat. She pushed back against his prick,

“Please Matthew, please don’t stop,” she said, her fingers splayed out on the windowpane like pale starfish. 

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slowly drove his cock in as deep as he could go. She sighed with pleasure, a kind of relief at having the feeling back, relief at being full again. He hammered into her, pulling her hair with one hand and holding tight to her hip with the other. He could feel her insides starting to twitch, her pussy dripping and clenching, she was going to come. Her breath fogged the glass, covered in rain.

“Look where you are, darling,” he growled in her ear, picking up the pace of his thrusts, knowing just how he wanted to come, the exact moment. “Open your eyes and look.”

Sophie’s orgasm made her knees buckle but he held her up, his arm wrapped around her slim waist as she wailed, frantically bucking back against him. Still she hadn’t opened her eyes. Matthew pulled her hair harder, feeling the pressure of his own climax building, his balls constricting, his forehead prickling with sweat. 

“Fucking look Sophie,” he said, one final time. 

As she tried to catch her breath, Sophie opened her eyes, peering down through the bare Autumn tree branches, down through the sheets of rain to the bright blue and white awning across the street and the golden glow of the lights inside the bakery. Her bakery. Her breath caught in her throat, her naked body pressed hard against the glass as he bit into her shoulder, feeling every muscle of her body freeze with recognition, with the realization that she was mere meters from safety, from being free. She was silent, but she was terrified, and he couldn’t wait any longer to empty himself inside her.


End file.
